Mass Effect: A New History
by Bombsquad
Summary: A continuation of the 'A new Past' story arch.  The Alliance and Citadel have an uneasy peace...and the Alliance's safety and security is threated from without and from within, by extremists and terrorists...and one being whose mind is subverted.
1. Prologue

**A/N: So here we are folks! Part two of four in my series. Mass Effect, A new History. I begin with enough to tempt you and introduce your protagonist and an intriguing twist that once I began to think about it bugged me more and more. But I won't give it away, instead, read and get your own minds working on just what I might have in mind with this part of the story arch.**

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><p><strong>Omega, January 25<strong>**th**** 2171**

"So what do you need, exactly?" Asked the shadowed voice, the tone and pitch said it was from a Salarian, but Nihlus couldn't say for sure what the speaker was. The alley was dark, there was plenty of shadow to hide gunmen, and so far the Spectre had identified two others hiding in the shadows by their subtle and restless movement. Nihlus was slightly insulted, but then of course, he knew that if he actually decided to end this charade of civil conversation with the arms dealer, then he wouldn't have agreed to talk. He'd have simply shot the guards and drug the being to his ship for a more leisurely and secure interrogation. But unfortunately sometimes when you give your word that you won't 'cause to much trouble' to an informant, you have to stand by it.

So Nihlus smiled and resisted the impulse to settle matters.

"I need a name." Nihlus said tiredly.

"A name? Ah yes, one of the thing's I _cannot_ provide Spectre." The being said, his voice low and almost dripping with mock sorrow. Nihlus sighed again and shook his head at the response. He made no secret why he was here, and he also made no secret who he was either. Sometimes it was prudent to walk in loudly and proudly to keep

"A name, a place, and a reason."

"_Three _things I cannot give you Spectre, how unfortunate." The voice responded, but from the shadows a bloom of light erupted from an archaic torch lighter and the speaker lit a cigarette. It was a human, not a Salarian. Male, middle aged, for the most part non-descript. Nihlus didn't recognize him from any of the most wanted vid images he'd memorized, so he merely filed away the partial glimpse of who he was speaking to and continued to press on. Nihlus knew that their kind had been spreading out across the galaxy with their arrival on the galactic stage, off all the Alliance species, Humans were the most vagabond of any. It was surprising to see a human out on Omega, but Criminals were criminals, just like any vermin, they went where they could find easy food. If there was any place in the galaxy where a criminal could operate without worrying about the laws of any government,

"Three things that you can provide, human. I'm not here for you, or your friends, or your contacts, I'm here for a name, a place, and a reason. Not even a person…and not someone you care about." Nihlus said, his eyes focused on the glowing ember at the end of the cigarette the human was smoking.

"Ah, but a name…a name of a client, that is something I can't do. I operate on anonymity. People wouldn't utilize my services if they knew that I would give out their name to any Spectre who came calling." The Human replied.

"Do you even care?" Nihlus asked with a smile, he saw the coal of the cigarette flare and the arms dealer chuckled softly.

"Not particularly, but if I tell you what you want, the next Spectre could ask for something more, something that I do care about. And if that happens I'm not sure I will emerge unscathed." The Human replied.

"They're terrorists you know." Nihlus said off handedly.

"Again, I really don't care, their credits are good, and that's all that matters to me."

"I can force you to tell me what I want." Nihlus said, his voice still aloof.

"True, but you haven't yet." The Human replied and the glowing ember of his cigarette waved through the air, the hand holding it making a dismissive gesture. Nihlus sighed.

"Dealer, I can leave, but if I leave with what I want, you don't hear from me again, and you don't get considered a link in the supply chain." The Spectre said coolly.

"You're just not going to give up, are you Turian?" The Human replied and stepped forward, his face illuminated by the soft reddish glare of the garish advertisement signs at the end of the alley. His fingers jabbed hard into Nihlus's armor, a sneer on his face. The Turian Spectre merely stared down at him, not saying anything in response, but looking at the fingers jabbed into his chest with disdain.

"This is Omega, Turian, _Omega._ You don't have any authority here, and you're not getting any information from me, so get out of here before I decide to stop humoring you." The human said, his voice sounding firm, but Nihlus saw the nervous shift of his eyes over the Turian's shoulder armor, and the nervous movements of his eyes and body. Nihlus smiled and stepped into the human's personal space, making him stagger back slightly.

"I know, I've been here before human. That means I don't have to tell anyone what happened to you and your friends. I don't have to give a damn about anything if I gun you down in the street. So you should remember where you are human, the Alliance isn't out here to protect you, and the law here is the strongest is in charge." Nihlus said with a low growl to his tone, his eyes narrowed.

"Back off…" The human stammered, and Nihlus had enough with the Humans' games, he had a mission and the less time he spent here, the better. Before the arms dealer could withdrawal his hand, Nihlus's left clamped down hard on it, and twisted up and back, the motion was so short and vicious that the human didn't even have time to shout before the sounds of cracking bones cut the background noise of Omega. Yanking hard on the Human's hand and more than likely devastated wrist, he pulled the man out of the line of fire even as his right hand was bringing up his Carnifex sidearm. Whoever the gun runner had chosen for his bodyguards wasn't as fast as they should have been or as alert as he probably wanted them to be. Using his estimation of where the two were, he traced a trio of rounds across the shadows where each was hidden and was rewarded with the spark of heavy mass accelerator rounds striking armor with sparks, and the sickening groans of two men falling to the ground, dead. Instinctively, Nihlus turned and saw the charging form of a third human guard, his weapon at shoulder height firing, but almost nonchalantly, the veteran Spectre dropped to one knee and fired a single round into the guard's faceplate, sending him staggering to the ground.

The Turian rose and fired another round to ensure the job was finished and then walked over to the other two. Flicking on his hand light, he illuminated the bodies and nodded slowly, taking in the blue armor. Blue Suns mercenaries. Not surprising to see them doing grunt work and bodyguard duties, especially here on Omega. His light played over the weapons they were carrying, and Nihlus examined one and then bent to pick it up for a closer look. It was from Alliance space, projectile assault rifle, not a Mass Effect weapon. The Turian had studied the weapons extensively, and knew that the Alliance relied on an interesting mixture of projectile firearms, rocket propelled small arms, and energy weapons for their common use. All of them were exceptionally dangerous given the craftsmanship and extensive experience most Alliance Arms manufacturer's utilized. Nihlus scanned the weapons serial numbers and made a mental note to run them through the Citadel's database on them, perhaps their point of origin wasn't so obscure.

But then…that would be too easy. Legitimately manufactured weapons would be coming from Alliance arsenals and manufactures to be funneled into Cerberus, even if the Alliance was financing the Terrorist group. They weren't stupid enough to do that…and they weren't stupid enough to support a fanatical Human Racist group…they were multi-racial…financing supremacists undermined the entire _point_ of their government…he sighed again, it wasn't his to wonder why…it was his duty to investigate. Nihlus turned and knelt down to the gasping and now grey skinned arms dealer. The man was blinking heavily and looking rather nauseous. Nihlus couldn't blame him for that, the back of his hand was touching his elbow…and his forearm was 'U' shaped.

"Now…I need a name. A place. A reason." Nihlus said with a patronizing smile. It took a moment before the human looked up and finally focused on him.

"I…can't…" He stammered, and his face seemed to turn green and gray at the same time.

"Yes, you can, or I can do another limb. Tell me the Name of who sent you the credits for your arms shipment. Tell me where it is going, and tell me why it's going there."

"I…can't." The human replied and Nihlus gently took the humans devastated hand in his and straightened it in one sharp yank. The man didn't scream…he simply started to vomit from the sheer pain of it. The Turian Spectre grimaced at the display and shifted slightly as the human gasped for air and shook his head.

"Name." Nihlus said, and his hands were on either side of the shattered forearm, slowly working it.

"I don't know." The arms dealer choked out, shaking from the physical shock of what was happening.

"Name." He repeated slowly and clearly.

"I don't have one!" The dealer shouted. Nihlus kept working the jagged bone edges against each other, a more and more pronounced motion to his action. The human started to wretch and his head tilted slightly.

"I…would have…told you by…now…" He choked out.

"Alright, location." Nihlus asked calmly.

"Mindor…the shipment was to go to Mindor. That…Alliance and Batarian agricultural Colony in the Traverse." The dealer said and Nihlus stopped grinding the humans' shattered bones against each other.

"Very good. Now…why were they sent there? Tell me and you might get some medi-gel." Nihlus asked…his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

"It's…an attack. Some Cerberus group wants to kill all the xenos who are stealing human territory and prosperity…and making humans slave on colonies to feed Batarian masters." The arms dealer groaned out in a rush. Nihlus nodded slightly and held up the medi-gel applicator, spraying the gelled substance over the human's forearm to numb the pain slightly.

"What can you tell me about your buyer. What did he look like? What can you tell me about this human?" Nihlus asked.

"He wasn't a human." The arms dealer said, cradling his forearm to his chest and groaning softly.

"What was he?" Nihlus asked.

"She…it…whatever, an Asari, it was an Asari. I can't tell you much, they all look like strippers to me so don't ask or try to work me over." The arms dealer said, pulling back reflexively. Nihlus stared at the human, not saying a word. He could tell that the arms dealer was telling him the truth, but why would an Asari be sending weapons to a human supremacist group to attack an Alliance/Batarian Agricultural world? Another layer of intrigue…or was this something worse than that? Nihlus stood up and walked away from the human, not bothering to do anything more, and in a few steps he was gone from the alley, leaving the dead guards and the crippled weapons merchant behind him as he walked down the streets of Omega, heading for his ship. In his mind he ran over the information that he had been gathering.

The Council had directed him at investigating Cerberus after a series of high profile terrorist attacks were carried out in Citadel Space and also in Alliance Space by the group claiming to 'stand for the oppressed human peoples crushed beneath the weight of alien influence and tyranny'. The units were well organized, fanatical, and well equipped. In one attack alone they set off an Anti-matter charge in an Asari transit terminal on Illium after taking hostages. Over three hundred were killed in the explosion that was set off when the Police tried to intervene. The extranet manifesto had proclaimed that 'Illium is the gateway through which the prosperity of the Human people flows and it must be shut'. A simultaneous attack took place within Alliance Space at the Industrial World of Rheeser's Summit, boasting a Skyhook and a mixed population of almost 15 million Alliance races, the Cerberus terrorist group rammed the Skyhook's tether line with an orbital cargo freighter, severing it and killing over a thousand.

Despite the Illium attack, Cerberus had not endeavored to strike within Citadel space, limiting itself to Alliance Targets. But there was a consensus that the Alliance might be utilizing the Cerberus group as a possible Black Ops unit to strike at Citadel targets and cause severe disruption, and that they were simply attacking Alliance Targets to 'build a rep' so to speak. He'd been tasked with investigating the entire affair and so far, things were…confusing.

Nihlus reached the ship bays and boarded his transport, leaving Omega with little in the way of flourish as he accessed the FTL comm and cut in a communications line to the Council, specifically Councilor Valern. It took a few moments but the link went through easily and the face of the Turian Councilor appeared in a holo before Nihlus.

"Agent Nihlus, I trust Omega was not to trying for you. Have you located any further intelligence on Cerberus?" Valern asked, and Nihlus watched the Councilor raise a glass and take a drink of something. The Spectre's eyes narrowed slightly but he didn't comment. There were rumors about Councilor Valern's drinking habits, and while most thought it was a non issue, there were some who thought that the Councilor drank more than was healthy for him.

"Yes Councilor. Intelligence states that there will be an attack on Mindor by Cerberus against the Batarian colonists there…but I've received some surprising information that I believe fits with the earlier reports I gathered."

"The so called 'money trail' that leads back into Citadel space? Yes, I've read your reports Agent Nihlus, but they have been discounted as unsubstantiated." Valern said, shaking his head.

"Councilor, I have a statement that an Asari was providing payment for this group. An Asari providing support to a human supremacist group. I think that points towards Citadel Space, not Alliance Space." Nihlus said, looking out his viewports at the massive shape of the Omega 4 Relay in the distance, then looking back to see Councilor Valern shaking his head.

"Spectre, the Council has no hand in Cerberus or their attacks. And I cannot fathom why _any_ reasonable citizen of Citadel space would support such a violent and racist organization." Valern replied.

"I do not provide analysis Councilor, only the information." Nihlus replied to the Turian Councilor's jab.

"Very well, continue your mission at your discursion Nihlus, I desire a more tangible and logical explanation to this situation." Valern said and cut the transmission before Nihlus could respond. But the Spectre didn't notice the abrupt end to the report…his eyes were fixed on the core of the Omega 4 Relay as it began to power up…

…something was coming through the Relay…the uncharted relay that only one species in the galaxy had ever navigated going either direction.

The Collectors.

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><p><strong>AN: It's short, and it's a cliffy, but I'd like to think that I gave you all enough to make you hungry for this story…and to get all your minds racing about just what might be going on…Cerberus and Collectors…**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay folks, here we go getting into the meat of this story and the conflicts of this become apparent. Some overt military issues, but the politics, the second guessing, and the intrigue of the Galaxy begin to make themselves know.**

**Anybody else wonder why the series goes Reaper-Collectors-Reapers as the villains? Escalation would seem like… Collectors…then one Reaper, then ALL the Reapers. But that's just my musings…and…erm if the Collectors were linked to the Reapers…why was Saren attempting to reach the Reapers? I mean…wouldn't they have had the intelligence they needed? And if the Reapers were linked to the Collectors, when the Collectors tried to whack Shepard, why didn't they start heading for the Galaxy? Since it seems like the Reapers took only a couple months to reach the Relay in Arrival. I digress…I'm just musing on a couple of odd inconsistencies in the plot.**

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><p><strong>Systems Alliance Unified Military Command HQ Delta, Elysium, January 21st<strong>** 2171**

SAUMC HQ Delta was one of four High commands within Alliance space. The most recently designated with the Military re-organization that followed in the wake of the Alliance-Council War. Instead of operating around fleets organized on the homeworlds, Unified commands were designated for specific regions of the Galaxy and Alliance Space. Unified Command Alpha was for the Alliance 'core worlds' and domestic territory. Bravo was for Council Space. Charlie was for Borderland space and 'uncharted' territory. Delta was designated for the bulk of the territory in the possession of the Systems Alliance's only 'ally' in the galaxy, the Batarian Hegemony. The Skyllian Verge, Batarian Space, and the Nemean Abyss fell under command of Unified Command Delta based on Elysium in the Skyllian Verge. One of the numerous Alliance-Hegemony joint colonial efforts within the Verge, Elysium was one of the most populous colony worlds and becoming a transit hub with almost forty million residents mixed roughly half Batarian and half Alliance.

In command of the Fleets, Marine Corps and Army units stationed throughout the Verge, it's primary purpose was to organize any military response to a threat developing out of the Terminus Systems or Nemean Abyss, or any kind of threat of invasion into the jointly administered territory by an aggressor. With the significant Batarian presence in the Verge, the Abyss and the Terminus, there was very little for SAUMC Delta to worry about. The Batarians knew that they had the backing of the Alliance if there were any problems, but even without Alliance Muscle, Batarians were more than willing to keep things 'quiet'. Even the Terminus Systems weren't willing to provoke the Systems Alliance _and_ the Citadel Council by attacking Batarian territory. Most commanders viewed Delta as a 'safe' assignment, interesting, but not dangerous.

High Admiral Givraga was not so lucky as he had been a few days before. The entirety of Delta's command staff was abuzz and most of them had been at their stations in the situation room for almost twenty hours now, staring at read outs and drinking cold coffee to try and stave off exhaustion as they watched their displays. Givraga was lucky enough to garner a few moments of sleep, but he couldn't afford to remain divorced from the situation room too long. Instead the tired Vargr commander stood around the command ring of the massive galactic hologram that dominated the amphitheater style room watching it zoomed in on the section of the galaxy around Omega, and listening to the reports from his elevated perch in what amounted to a 'skybox' looking at the hustle of techs and officers checking information and relaying orders. The information saturation that was washing over the High Admiral was enough to make him growl in frustration, the galaxy holo, the smaller 'orbit' holos showing vessels and dispositions, the projection information that scrolled up the armor-plas window in front of his eyes.

"Report." He said calmly, closing his eyes and instead listening to the voice of his adjutant speak slowly and calmly…a marked improvement over the visual overload.

"The Reconnaissance Corvette is still on station in Sahrabarik observing traffic going to and from Omega. Current reports place a large vessel of unknown make and design to have emerged from the Omega 4 Relay. It is described as an asteroid design of some kind with drive equipment attached. The Vessel is maintaining location outside the Gravity well of the Relay. So far it has made no transmissions of any kind, the Corvette has remained in Silent Running, merely observing with passive sensors." Givraga's aide said quietly.

"Alright. Has Admiral Froat Del'vahshan received an answer from his commanders yet?" Givraga asked looking over his shoulder and opening his eyes at last. In keeping with the operational purpose of the base, Batarian Liaison officers were stationed at the facility, most of flag rank as Generals or Admirals. While they weren't granted unlimited access to the information and strategic resources of the facility, their co-operation with military planning and joint operations work was vital for the Batarian-Alliance Military position throughout Delta's area of operations. Admiral Froat Del'vahshan was the senior most officer in the Batarian liaison office, and had informed Givraga that he was attempting to get information on the vessel which had appeared in the Omega system released from his own command. Givraga wasn't sure what kind of information there was, but he was grateful on one paw…but annoyed at the other. The Batarians owed a great deal to the Systems Alliance and the fact that Del'vahshan had to request information was a slight affront to the mostly cordial relations the two powers shared. But Givraga couldn't complain much, he understood that sometimes you couldn't share everything with friends.

"Yes sir, the Admiral will be here momentarily." The Aide replied.

"Momentarily indeed." A grizzled voice called from the entrance to Givraga's command post. The Vargr commander turned and nodded at the sight of his Batarian colleague standing in the doorway with an aide in close attendance. The Batarian Admiral nodded in respect and Givraga did the same. The Alliance and Batarian Militaries were close…especially with the Batarians working to adopt Alliance norms for unit layout and force organization, but they weren't interchangeable when it came to command and control. Alliance and Batarian forces were close, not outright allies, and not considered unified. But they were warm and most ranks in either military showed respect that their opposites were due.

"Admiral, it's good to see you here." Givraga said, gesturing for the Batarian Admiral to seat himself at the map table display on one side of the chamber. Givraga walked to it and the holo displays were more muted than the riot of colors and symbols filling the air in the chamber beyond the armor-plas windows. Del'vahshan walked to the map table and set a case on it, but did not sit down.

"Yes High Admiral, I'm glad to be here, and I'm glad that I can provide you with some illumination on what your ships are seeing in Omega." The Batarian Admiral said and opened his case.

"Good, High Command is curious about the appearance of vessels through the Omega 4 Relay. What can you tell us about them?" Givraga asked, his paw tapping the display screen and bringing up a close view of the Omega system on the flat 2D surface. With a few touches to the display, the Recon Corvette appeared and the image of the unknown vessel was provided from the ship's sensors and passive cameras.

"Well High Admiral, Batarian Command examined the information that your ship was providing, and we theorize that vessel belongs to the Collectors." Del'vahshan said and opened the case he was carrying with a touch of his fingers. The lid opened and the Batarian Admiral turned it to face Givraga, the interior of the case was a hardwired data module with display screens, it was the kind of setup that was used when you couldn't transmit data no matter how good your encryption was. Cases like this were used to transport state secrets.

"Collectors? I know that name." Givraga said, leaning in and examining the displayed data on the case.

"Yes, the Collectors are mainly known as a spacers myth. They're rarely seen, normally work through middle-men, never appear overtly beyond Omega. No one is really sure that they exist, but the Hegemony has a degree of…foresight." Del'vahshan said.

"Foresight?" Givraga asked, looking up.

"High Admiral, the Batarian Hegemony does not warrant the full…shall we say support? Of the Citadel Council. We have always had to look to our own defense and security when it comes to military matters, and in this case intelligence. The Hegemony had secured several highly advanced pieces of technology over the years, all of which were traced back to deals with the Collectors. The SIU and Naval Intelligence began an intensive campaign of research and intel gathering. We have very sparse information High Admiral, but we acknowledge that they exist, that's more than the Council has done." Admiral Del'vahshan explained.

"That's rather surprising Admiral." Givraga said, his paw touching the display screen and flicking through the assembled images. Grainy impartial stills of aliens, composite hologram reconstructions of what the species might look like…holograms of known Collector vessels, but none of them seemed to synch up with the massive vessel that had appeared from the relay. The vessel there was several orders of magnitude larger than any craft that had been previously identified as 'Collector'.

"The Council doesn't like changing the status quo. They prefer comfortable and familiar situations." Del'vahshan said sourly.

"The Collectors stay a myth and the Council ignores them? What about the technology?"

"Rare and hard to come by, not to mention it's usually a once and done piece of equipment that can't be reverse engineered. Lack of proof tends to make the Council reluctant to do anything about a situation." Del'vahshan replied, his four eyes rolling in unison.

"Then why does the Hegemony have Collector Technology?" High Admiral Givraga said, looking at the Batarian Liaison officer with narrowed eyes.

"Because the Hegemony did some business with the Collectors on a limited scale. The limited technology we gained in return for our services defied our attempts to decipher it." Del'vahshan said non-plused by Givraga's gaze.

"What kind of services?" Givraga asked?

"Collectors are notorious for placing bounties on the collection of sentient beings of exotic or unusual situation. Batarian Twins, Left handed Salarians, genetically pure Quarians, the list is a long one. We've pieced together a long list of what the Collectors desired from 'independent' slavers and acquisition units, and we know exactly what the Hegemony provided them." Del'vahshan said.

"You provided sentients to a species with no idea what they were for?" Givraga said, his voice growing towards outrage, but the Batarian didn't rise to the displeasure the Vargr High Admiral was showing.

"I make no apologies for our political decisions High Admiral. We sold slaves and sentients in exchange for technology leaps and bounds ahead of our own in the hopes of gaining technological advancement. We did what we had to do High Admiral, just like the Alliance has, and just like the Council has. Do you think your own government would have such reservations? Do you think the Citadel would?" Del'vahshan said in response, and Givraga's bluster waned considerably at the Batarian's cold examination of the facts. What were the lives of a handful when weighed against Billions? It wasn't necessarily _right_ but it was unfortunately exactly how a government _had_ to think.

"Alright Admiral, alright. What does the Hegemony expect this 'craft' is going to do?" Givraga asked, leaning back from the display unit.

"Unknown at this time. They've never sent anything this large through before." Del'vahshan said, shaking his head and looking at the map display. For a moment the craft blipped with a red outline, and then slowly began moving.

"High Admiral, the vessel is apparently moving…" A disembodied voice said over the comm.

"I see it." Givraga said, and rose from his seat, leaning heavily on the edge of the table, watching the indicator for the recon Corvette moving in pursuit, it's stealth systems still cloaking it. As Givraga watched, the lone Corvette closed the distance handily and invisibly taking up a tracking position.

"Recon Corvette in position, currently running on passive sensors. No discernable reaction from…wait…" The voice reported, and then Givraga watched in horror as the Collector ship changed orientation and began circling towards the tiny Corvette.

"High Admiral, it's located your craft." Del'vahshan said dourly, his own eyes following the blips on the display screen.

"Corvette reports what seems to be weapons signatures charging, vessel has apparently located them. Captain is maneuvering to lose contact." The voice said, despite the stress, the officer giving the blow by blow seemed to have no enthusiasm…or any kind of emotion at all…simply speaking as flat and dead as a computer. Givraga zoomed in on the situation and watched the Collect vessel maneuver to bear down on the cloaked vessel.

"How did they locate that craft? Cloaking and emissions control make it invisible to all known sensors. It's impossible to locate that ship. We tried with every known technological system available." Givraga said grimly.

"Not impossible High Admiral, just extremely difficult. Collector Technology is the same as Citadel Technology, just further along the developmental path. It's possible that the Collector ship is using gravimetric sensors to locate your Corvette's mass in space itself." Del'vahshan said, looking down at the map and Givraga looked up. Unfortunately for the Vargr the Batarian commander didn't expand on that statement, leaving him wondering at just how open and friendly the Hegemony might be…but couldn't spare the time to consider that. Instead his gaze returned to look at the Corvette whose Captain was maneuvering as quickly as he could away from the hulking Collector ship. Whoever the commander was, they were good…and they were using their size and speed to out maneuver the vessel that had been their quarry moments before.

"Something doesn't seem right." Givraga said, watching the maneuvers with a wary eye.

"I agree. The Collector vessel demonstrated much better maneuverability. I wouldn't expect them to simply slow. They're trying to capture your craft." Del'vahshan said, and Givraga looked over to the Batarian.

"Why? What do they have to gain…" Givraga said and the Batarian Admiral's description of Collector Technology rang in his thoughts.

"Your technology is different from theirs. It's not Protean based. I'm sure that if they had the chance, they would want to study your technology just like they would want to study your genetics. We've never recorded any kind of instance where the Collectors wanted to decipher Citadel based technology, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't have thought to keep alert for possible threats to their advantage. I think you qualify as a threat High Admiral." Del'vahshan said, and Givraga looked at the display, the Corvette slowly gaining ground. In a burst of acceleration the Collector vessel moved in quickly and overshadowed the small ship. Givraga's claws grated on the metal edge of the map table, a snarl coming to his lips.

"Corvette is still transmitting, the Captain has charged the self destruct…initializing." The impartial and flat voice called from overhead. Givraga turned and he didn't see the readout of the explosion as the Corvette's main reactor overloaded, destroying the ship rather than letting it be captured by the Collectors. Admiral Del'vahshan looked at the Vargr High Admiral in silence for a few long moments before his hand closed the data cache he'd brought. It was a long moment as the Batarian officer watched the Vargr before he spoke at last.

"My advice is to consider them a threat High Admiral. Without a doubt, the Collectors are aware of the technological dissimilarity between the Systems Alliance and the Citadel. Logic states that they will wish to investigate this disparity further." The Batarian said, and Givraga nodded.

"I'll make preparations to have security at all Mass Relays into Alliance space increased. But that leaves a large number of our joint Colonies in the Verge in doubt. I can step up patrols, but I am afraid that the Alliance needs to ask for assistance from the Hegemony to ensure our people's security." Givraga said, turning from the display windows and the muted atmosphere of the main display chamber. Admiral Del'vahshan straightened, holding the data case in his hand and looked at the Vargr for a few moments longer than a simple pause would have taken.

"I will…relay that wish to my own Command High Admiral. This puts us in a delicate situation High Admiral, we cannot be sure what the Collectors will do. I do not know if the Hegemony can commit forces to combat a Collector threat. But I will see what we can manage to keep the Verge secure." Del'vahshan said and left the room with a nod. Givraga couldn't manage to say anything, instead looking after his supposed Batarian Ally with a wary expression. He remained where he was for a long moment, watching the doorway, before turning back to the display window in silence. His paws were clenched angrily but other than that he made no overt sign. His aide entered the room and stood in silence, watching the Vargr commander glaring into the room beyond his armorplas view screen, considering things.

"I want a comm opened to High Command at Arcturus. I need to discuss the situation with them. I have a feeling that the Collectors will be making a nuisance of themselves in the Verge…and the Batarians might not be willing to assist us as much as we hope they will. Did Admiral Del'vahshan leave the data?" Givraga asked, looking over his shoulder for the first time. The Aide shook his head silently, and the Vargr cursed.

"Fair weather friends…very well, I need that link to High Command then. And I need the recording information from this chamber linked and categorized." Givraga said.

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><p><strong>The Citadel, January 22<strong>**nd****, 2171**

"What is this about Councilor?" Nihlus said in a growl. The Turian did not relish this kind of waste of time, no matter how vital and important it was. Standing in an office, no matter how opulent was not as vital as being out in the field. Talking to a Councilor was not as vital as being out there and doing things. It had always been hard for him to accept that sometimes you had to come running when a Councilor called, no matter how important what you were doing was. Of course, reporting to Councilor Valern the status of the investigations into Cerberus had been necessary, he hadn't expected his declaration that the Collectors had appeared from the Omega 4 Relay to be met with the personal orders from Councilor Hillardan instructing him to return to the Citadel at all possible speed. That was an order he had balked at, but after the Salarian had stated that the matter was already being 'dealt with properly' and the Salarian had icily asked whether Nihlus desired to continue his position with the Spectres, the Turian had agreed to make his way to the Citadel. After barely getting a chance to dock before he'd been escorted to see Hillardan…his temper had him dispense with all the usual formalities when one addressed a councilor.

"I matter of grave galactic importance Mr. Kryik. Please be seated." Hillardan said. The Salarian was seated in a simple desk chair behind his elegant obsidian carved desk. The input holos that had hovered in the air as Nihlus stormed into the office had vanished with a wave of the Salarian's hand, and left the male Councilor slouched over slightly in shadow, the effect was of a brooding recluse, contemplating issues beyond anything that an average citizen could consider relevant. The tone also brought Nihlus up short. Normally a Councilor had a confident and serious tone, but one with authority and command. A voice that could silence a mob or cool any fanatic, a voice that could mellow the angry, or incite the docile. But it was not a voice that was to sound tired or exhausted…weary of the world.

_That_ made Nihlus take a breath and merely nod rather than continue his terse questioning, pulling out his chair, he noticed that the Salarian's aide didn't remain in the room. The Turian Spectre sat quietly, looking at the Councilor tapping his fingers on the top of his black glass desk, looking off to one side but not focusing in on Nihlus with his eyes. The Turian remained silent, but felt himself getting annoyed at the Salarian's silence…willing to summon him here and waste his time sitting in a darkened office…

"Councilor, what is the meaning of this?" He asked, tense but trying to keep his impatience under control. The Salarian blinked and looked Nihlus in the eyes…and the Turian saw just how exhausted Hillardan looked.

"Spectre, you know why your organization exists." Hillardan said, his words deliberately toned to not ask for an answer, but Nihlus gave one anyway.

"Yes Councilor." He said, more curious and confused not than angry.

"Tell me about the Cerberus organization. What is your opinion of them?" Hillardan said, his eyes focused on Nihlus, enough that the Turian shifted slightly beneath the fixed gaze.

"Both dangerous and ineffective. The Systems Alliance regards them as a dangerous group of fanatical terrorists who represent a miniscule portion of their society." Nihlus explained. He'd been studying them for over a year now, and the information that he had gathered on the group had consistently made him think of them as being inept xenophobes who were being used as a puppet.

"Indeed. What do you think of their activities, operations, methodology?" Hillardan asked, pushing for less concise and more thorough explanation.

"They were founded over a century ago when the Systems Alliance first made contact with a sentient extraterrestrial race. The Humans made it clear that they were not alone after the discovery of the Prothean ruins on their world of Mars, and the way they made contact with the Vegans inoculated them from xenophobic fanaticism. They did not meet a significant Alien race that opposed them until the Relay 314 incident. During the entire century, Cerberus remained a fringe organization, their founding after the locating of the Prothean ruins called for a dedicated group to protect and defend humanity no matter what the cost. For the most part nonviolent due to the lack of major conflicts with any alien species beyond the Reticulans. It remained the refuge of fringe followers until the War between the Hierarchy and the Alliance. From what the Systems Alliance Security Service posts about them as a known terrorist group, they have approximately ten thousand members out of thirty billion humans, a minute number. There are numerous terrorist organizations of much larger followings, but Cerberus has had numerous successes since the Relay 314 incident." Nihlus supplied the information readily, he knew it all chapter and verse because he'd been studying it for so long.

"But what do you think?" Hillardan asked after a moments contemplation.

"Councilor?"

"What does your intuition tell you?" The Salarian asked, turning in his chair slightly to look at a blank stretch of wall over a row of liquor bottles and decanters. Nihlus hesitated for a moment, not sure what the Councilor really wanted to hear. He might have been one of the best, but sometimes the truth wasn't what the Council wanted to hear. They were strange that way, sometimes they wanted the truth, other times they wanted to hear what was convenient. Councilor Valern was notorious among the Spectres for demanding that they tell him what he wanted to hear and nothing else. Councilor Tevos was more even handed and preferred to get the whole story on matters that Spectres dealt with…although she preferred to have 'negative' details glossed over. Hillardan preferred the truth, and nothing but the truth.

But Nihlus had never been asked by a Councilor what his intuition told him. Gut feelings and hunches weren't the kinds of things that Galactic Governments would accept. Hard and tangible facts needed to be there for examination…even Spectres couldn't get around that fact of life. Nihlus dithered long enough in giving an answer for Hillardan to look over at him.

"There are no recorders in this office Spectre, I've made sure of that. You can speak your mind freely without repercussions. Now, please, tell me what your experience and training tell you that the layman wouldn't notice." Hillardan said with a wan smile, the exhaustion that the Salarian felt in full view. But Nihlus had a sudden revelation…the Councilor had made sure that his office had no listening devices. Normally, C-Sec handled counter espionage sweeps in the Citadel. If the Councilor had his own office swept by one of his staff…that meant that he was concerned that C-Sec might not be doing the best job…

…or were leaving some items of their own…

Nihlus's eyes widened slightly, wondering at what kind of situation was really going on in the Citadel. Councilor Valern dismisses his reports as routine, keeps him assigned to the operation. Plus…He'd been kept on almost continuous 'assigned' duty for almost a year now…something that was highly unorthodox for a Council Spectre. Most were given free reign over their activities…but…

"What's going on Councilor?" Nihlus asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Nothing at all Spectre, I merely am curious as to the first hand information acquired by a skilled agent in the pursuit of his duties. It does not in any way state that I feel intelligence reports and briefings made to me have been filtered or edited to keep me negligent of galactic affairs. Nor do I feel that I've been discriminated against for my political views and Tevos and Valern seek to minimize their affect on their policies." Hillardan said with a deadpan voice. It took Nihlus a long moment to process what he'd just been told.

"_What?" _He stammered out in shock, his eyes wide.

"You're a bad Turian Nihlus. A very bad Turian. You do what you must to accomplish an objective. You're extremely intelligent, extremely capable, and above all, you're a diverse thinker. Dangerous traits for a Spectre, even more dangerous traits for a Turian. Why do you think that you have been on directed assignments for the past thirteen months?" Hillardan said, and Nihlus didn't respond, instead he glanced over his shoulder at the doorway…remembering that two guards had been on the outside…two _Salarian_ guards.

"What do you mean Councilor?" Nihlus asked.

"What do you think of Cerberus?" Hillardan asked again. This time, Nihlus didn't hesitate.

"They're being directed, by someone or some organization. I first thought it was a human organization, but the more information I recovered about funding, weapons shipments and supplies…the more threads led back to Citadel Space. My gut is telling me…well…someone with authority, wealthy, and power in Citadel Space is calling the shots. Cerberus didn't become so effective and aggressive until a year after the Relay 314 incident. Long enough that relations between Citadel and Alliance space normalized so that cross border traffic wasn't constantly watched. Which meant that you could ship credits and supplies in to Alliance space." Nihlus said grimly.

"I see." Hillardan said, his voice flat.

"I'd have preferred that it was a human organization…but if material and support is coming from Citadel Space…someone here is financing a terrorist group in the Alliance…and that's an act of war if they're even remotely related to the government." Nihlus said.

"What makes you say that?" Hillardan asked.

"What?"

"Why did you bring up the possibility that it could be government related?" Hillardan asked, his fingers arched in front of his face as he peered past them.

"I…" Nihlus said…and for a moment, he couldn't answer why himself…

"Intuition." Hillardan said simply and Nihlus nodded. "I used to be in intelligence Spectre, we're trained that sometimes our minds notice things that we aren't aware of, and we just…'know' that something is true. And what your intuition is telling me, I've heard from the STG in numerous reports." Hillardan said, slowly standing up and walking to the side wall, lifting a decanter of a clear fluid that looked like pure water.

"I've been reprimanded for that kind of thing Councilor…you should know that." Nihlus said, a hint of irony in his voice as the Salarian poured himself a drink. In the dim light the Turian could barely register the liquid entering the glass.

"Vodka, Stolichnaya Vodka it's called. Human, Russian actually. I've developed a taste for it, I have a Dextro based variant if you wish…?" Hillardan said and Nihlus shook his head. "Very well. Spectre…the Salarian STG has been examining the situation for quite some time. Along with other situations within Alliance Space. I'm sure you're familiar with the Krogan rebellion on Tuchanka against the Alliance occupation?" Hillardan asked.

"Yes…I had heard."

"A complete Alliance Sector Army has been deployed there, over two Million combat troops in theater working to suppress the Krogan insurgency." Hillardan said, sipping at the human drink slowly.

"I wasn't aware of that."

"Nor were you aware of the reports that Alliance Troops have made of Asari Commandos supplying weapons and munitions to the Krogan rebels. Along with large numbers of Citadel made weapons and equipment being recovered from Krogan forces." Hillardan said.

"No Councilor." Nihlus asked.

"Are you aware of the investigation into the Spectres?" Hillardan asked, and Nihlus looked at the Salarian curiously.

"What do you mean, investigation?" Nihlus asked.

"A Salarian STG unit was contacted by a Turian Spectre to undertake espionage into Alliance political systems, among other things. They were found dead, to a being. The Council issued explicit orders not to interfere with the Alliance, they were too concerned that such meddling could lead to an incident or even ignite a war. Any Spectre attempting to interfere would be viewed as attempting to start a war. So they assigned their best agent to examine all the Spectres in an attempt to locate the traitor. And we both know who their best agent is."

"That's…" Nihlus said, and he almost said 'good thinking on their part' but came up short. Why would the Council send a Turian Spectre to look for a Turian traitor? It was foolish in the extreme, even if Saren was the best…it would have been a simple matter to have a Salarian or Asari do the investigation…or have C-Sec undertake it. Executor Palin would have been overjoyed at bending the Spectres back a little and enforcing some kind of law on them…but…Saren…

"Yes…Saren is the best. But he is also a Turian. And he has begun his investigation and so far, found absolutely nothing." Hillardan said, not yet seating himself, instead standing behind his opulent chair, looking out the windows behind his desk.

"Nothing? How is that possible?"

"Oh, that's not to say he hasn't found some things of note, but he's found precisely nothing so far." Hillardan said cryptically.

"Councilor?" Nihlus asked, his voice slightly annoyed at the Salarian's cryptic response. Now was not the time for word games.

"The STG has been investigating every Spectre at length to see if we can't find anything ourselves. The Salarian Union has a vested interest in peace, and I can safely say that finding whoever is supporting these rogue elements and stopping them is the best possible way of keeping the peace. So far, they have had modest luck in eliminating possible suspects. We looked at every Spectre not just Turians for possible issues. The only Turian Spectre that we have had difficulties corroborating information on…is you." Hillardan said softly, and Nihlus was dumbstruck by the insinuation.

"That's wrong." He replied flatly.

"I know it is Spectre." Hillardan said with a smile.

"Your spies are wrong. I would never support any kind of terrorist group, let alone one that could start a _war_ with the Alliance." Nihlus said slowly and deliberately.

"I am well aware. I know that you sent a message to Mindor warning them of the Cerberus attack, and I know you've been rather supportive of efforts to work with the Alliance in some issues of mutual interest. It's a dangerous stance to take these days with our government, but the discrepancies that have appeared are contradicted by the information that the STG has recovered. I think that someone is framing you Spectre." Hillardan said, sitting back down in his chair.

"To what end?"

"That, I do not know Spectre. Nor do I know who. As I said, the STG has had modest luck in it's investigation. Spectres are not easy beings to track or investigate, and some false information and identities are the least issues that we have to deal with. But I wanted to speak with you personally about this, because you're the only Spectre who looks to be so perfectly set as a target in this. The evidence was subtle, it was building to something. An association here, a bank transfer there, a trip here, an off topic comment there…little things, but enough little things can drown you in evidence." Councilor Hillardan replied.

"Why tell me?" Nihlus asked after a long moment's contemplation.

"Because Councilor, you're a bad Turian. I need a bad Turian." Hillardan said as he smiled and lifted his glass in mock salute to Nihlus. The smile on the Councilor's face sent a shiver of paranoia through him.

"What do you want?" He asked warily.

"As you can tell, I'm not as paranoid about the Systems Alliance as my colleagues are, something which makes me an outcast on the Council, but it serves a valuable purpose. I've studied them Agent Kryik, rather extensively. They're a remarkable collection of species, and they are surprisingly capable, militarily, economically, socially and technologically. I sometimes worry that the only reason that the Council hasn't provoked a war with them to finish things is because they refuse to see how capable they are. If they did…pride can compel beings to do some dreadful things. And no matter how powerful a being is, it is still a mortal. And things that cause quarrels between neighbors are the same things that can cause wars between nations. Such is the reality of things." Hillardan said slowly, swirling the vodka in his glass slowly.

"You speak as if you're not on the Council." Nihlus replied.

"In many ways, I'm not." Hillardan replied.

"What? That's impossible, Salarians and Asari founded the Citadel Council, you're a seated member and the Salarian Union's representative. It's in the founding principles of the Citadel…" Nihlus said, shocked at the insinuation.

"Oh, it's nothing so overt as an outright dismissal. But it's still there. My views are unpopular Spectre. Exceptionally unpopular. Councilor Valern is no fool, but he is a Turian…and he is accepting of the way things are, law, order, tradition and honor. And before you speak, yes, I know that those are virtues in your culture." Hillardan said holding up his hand to silence Nihlus before the Spectre could reply…but Nihlus spoke anyway.

"I would hope you could respect that somewhat Councilor that's what makes Turians so-" Nihlus said heatedly before Hillardan cut over him.

"Useful." The Salarian said the word simply and brought the Turian Spectre to a halt as quickly as if he had run face first into a bulkhead.

"Useful…" Nihlus repeated.

"I admire all galactic cultures Agent Kryik, do not mistake me, but you cannot help but say that Salarians are quick and aggressive, and we do not deal with idleness or inactivity well. I would take it as no offense, but merely the truth. Your people are a certain way, mine are a certain way, and that certain way of yours makes your people excellent soldiers…and I don't think that Valern ever stopped being a soldier…but soldiers do not deal well with politics. And the Citadel has not been political before the Systems Alliance arrived…or at least, the Citadel is not diplomatic." Hillardan mused softly.

"Diplomatic?"

"Politics is about surviving to the next election. Diplomacy is about surviving to the next century. Councilor Tevos should know that…but I fear that she has begun to face a rather unfortunate problem that one can suffer from at any age, unfortunately, it becomes more and more possible the older one becomes. Pride, the most dangerous and subversive of all weaknesses." Hillardan said with a ironic twist to his words.

"Pride? An Asari Matriarch suffering from Pride? An Asari _Councilor_ at that?" Nihlus said disbelieving.

"Yes, you've never been prideful? Never overestimated your abilities? Never dismissed another because of your own ego? Not once?" Hillardan asked with a laugh, and Nihlus felt himself shift a little in embarrassment.

"I'd rather not discuss that." Nihlus said slightly.

"Fair enough Spectre, fair enough. But I fear that with age and status comes pride…and pride is a dangerous thing because when it is attacked, when we are slighted it is a blow to our most treasured of things, our perception of ourselves. Tevos's people found the Citadel, they are the most experienced and longest lived of all Species. She was selected by her people to be their member of the Council. Tell me that wouldn't boost your ego, and tell me that something like the Systems Alliance threatening the Citadel during your Tenure wouldn't make a bit of a dent in your pride. I'm a Salarian, Agent. Our people have to put a new representative on the Council every five years or so. Holding the post for two hundred? One could have certain illusions to shatter." Hillardan said with an ironic chuckle.

"What's your point Councilor?" Nihlus said sharply, and Hillardan blinked in surprise and then nodded.

"They aren't capable of addressing this situation. One is a soldier, the other is set in her ways and her ego is hurt. They can't deal with this situation and the possible threat that it represents. A soldier sees war, and as an Asari…perhaps Tevos should view the Alliance as an opportunity to enrich the galaxy…but…their culture isn't geared towards assimilation into the Citadel. So they're a threat." Hillardan said and Nihlus opened his mouth to speak before hesitating and remaining silent. The Councilor did have a point. Asari viewed assimilation and cultural dominance as the best way to deal with new species, that was how it was always done. But the Alliance wasn't doing that…it wasn't fitting into the mould that _every_ species who had contacted the Asari had fit into…and that was something that Nihlus had never thought about. Probably something no-one had thought about before now…except for Hillardan.

"The last true threat to the existence of the Citadel was the Krogan Rebellions. And that was through a war. Before that, it was the Rachni, and again, that was through a war. Both times the Citadel triumphed by finding soldiers. But now, the Citadel is threatened by a force that is not trying to invade and conquer it. At least not overtly. Civilizations are ultimately conquered by books, not swords, Agent. Ideas, not wars. Unless the war is one of genocide, of course, but then the Council has waged two of those wars against it's enemies." Hillardan said and his words had an unmistakable tone of bitterness about them.

"The Citadel Council did what it had to do for our government to survive." Nihlus said, his mind leaping to the answer he'd known since his earliest history lessons, the Citadel did what it needed to do, but it did not seek wars or conflict, only waging them when it had no alternative.

"Perhaps. But the Systems Alliance is a threat to the Citadel. It's technology, it's economy, it's ways…they are a threat to the Citadel and the status quo. That is what you are tasked to preserve Spectre, the status quo of the galaxy through any means necessary. You can use diplomacy or force, negotiation or murder, but the ultimate goal is to keep things the way they are, the Council likes things the way they are. But the Council doesn't realize that things are changing. Faster than they can contemplate. You've been indoctrinated to maintain the peace, keep the status quo, and preserve galactic stability. First as a Turian Soldier, then as a Council Spectre. Given your training, your mission, your goals, how can you preserve the galactic status quo? Knowing what the Alliance is?" Hillardan said and the Salarian Councilor gazed purposefully at Nihlus.

"…if the Alliance was a threat…then the only way to deal with it would be to eliminate the threat…" He said after a long moment's contemplation.

"But…you obey orders, and your orders are to not provoke any kind of incident with the Alliance."

"I would obey orders, above all else." Nihlus responded without hesitation.

"Would all Spectres do so?" Hillardan asked.

"Yes, without question." Nihlus replied, once more, not hesitating.

"Every one?"

"Yes Councilor. I am sure of that."

"Even a Turian? "Especially a Turian." Nihlus said and wondered why a Councilor was asking him these kinds of questions, especially after the rather odd commentary on the Citadel Council…

"Then the individual who is seeking a war between the Alliance and the Council is being influenced by an outside force of some kind."

"What?" Nihlus said, looking at the Salarian and shaking his head.

"If a Turian, a Turian Spectre is a driving force for a war. If they are willing to work against the Council, if they are willing to disobey orders. Orders that_ directly contradict_ their actions. They would have to have been manipulated or coerced into undertaking them." Hillardan said reasonably.

"Speaking theoretically, yes. They would have had to have been coerced. But this is a Spectre, and a Turian. That kind of coercion…that would be impossible." Nihlus said.

"Improbable, but not impossible. All mortal beings have their limits. If it were done, it would have to be very good and very sophisticated…" Hillardan said, wrapped up in his thoughts.

"How do you know it's not me?" Nihlus asked at last.

"Simple, because you're to smart to make the mistakes you allegedly made." Hillardan said with as adamant logical as if he said that the Citadel would continue spinning for the next millennia.

"That's good enough for you?"

"Yes Spectre, It is. You're a bad Turian, but a good Spectre. There is no such thing as a fool in the Spectres, and the mistakes that were found were the actions of a fool." Hillardan said and then smiled.

"So what's the purpose of all this Councilor?" Nihlus asked bluntly, and Hillardan's face showed a trace of confusion.

"Spectre?"

"You've talked about a few things in this conversation Councilor, all of them interesting, but seemingly unrelated. The Council is not suited to deal with this threat…that there is a possible Rogue Spectre…and that you know it's not me. How are they related Councilor?" Nihlus asked.

"If the Council were provoked enough, what do you think they would do to address the Systems Alliance?" Hillardan asked in response.

"War."

"Yes Spectre, I fear that the Council will consider the Systems Alliance a threat worthy of war. That war is one we would win…more than likely we would win…and I do not think that it would take long for my seat on the Council to be vacant, and my replacement would be more hawkish and supportive of Valern and Tevos. If a war happened, what is the end result? A massive and devastating conflict, mass mobilizations, millions if not billions dead. After the dust settled, a ruined galaxy, a weakened military. I think that there is something brewing that is very dangerous, Spectre. I think that the rogue wants a war…and that war will weaken the Citadel and destroy the Alliance." Hillardan said simply.

"I…" Nihlus said into the silence of the Councilor's explanation.

"Nihlus, I need you. You're one of the best, second only to Saren, I know you're not the Rogue, and I know that you are an excellent Spectre…and a good being." Hillardan said.

"Why not Saren?"

"I don't like his methods Nihlus, not one bit. You value life, and only do what needs to be done…working as best you can to avoid the sacrifice of those who should live." Hillardan said and Nihlus didn't move a muscle at that comment. He knew that Saren was a determined being who did whatever he could to achieve his objectives...and was willing to kill whoever he needed to. Sacrificing them to the alter of 'The Greater Good'. Nihlus did not like that kind of thinking very much, but his friend and mentor had the unequivocal position as the best of the Spectres. The Turian Spectre did not like the implications of what this rogue could do to the galaxy…and even though his duty was to preserve the status quo in Citadel space…he had long since worked to preserve life and the safety of all beings in the galaxy…Citadel or Alliance.

"What do you need me to do Councilor?" Nihlus asked finally.

"Find the Rogue. Find him and kill him, before he starts a war that will kill us all." Hillardan said at last.

"For the Council?" Nihlus asked.

"No Spectre, for me. For the Galaxy, and for all the lives that will be lost if he pushes the Citadel into open war."


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: And now we get into one of the most difficult chapters I'm going to be writing. Before now, I've deliberately written humanity vague. Yes, vague. Of course, the first few chapters in A new past were human centric because it was about earth. And the story I'm writing focuses on the advantage that Human technology gives. But I've never focused on human culture that much, just how it interacts with Vegans, Aslan, Vargr, Drow, and Quarians. I mention a smattering of names, but I don't get into histories and cultures. Simply because Humanity is us. All of us, and that puts me at a disadvantage.**

**With a story like Mass Effect it's a difficult thing to talk about Humans. Turians, Asari, Salarians, Krogan, Quarians…you can paint them with a broad brush, and to be frank, Bioware painted them with a very broad and stereotyped brush simply because you can't get into depth with every alien species, every epoch of their history culture society and such because it's too intensive, too big, to intricate. Of course, you could, and Bioware has done far more in defining it's Alien species than any other game I've really seen other than Star Wars…but that depth was the work of hundreds if not thousands of writers, artists, and fans that spanned almost 40 years now.**

**But for Humans?**

**Humans…**

**I'm an American from Pennsylvania, East Coast, United States, my grandfathers fought the Japanese and Germans in the Second World War. My uncle served during Vietnam, though we don't know where or in 'what' capacity due to the blacking out of his records. My ancestors fought in the Civil War for the Union, my ancestors fought the Spanish Conquistadors. My history is Scottish-German, the Scots left behind the Crown, the Germans were running from the Sheriffs. ANY of those histories is something that is defining for me as a person, as a human.**

**I've looked at the origin points of the readers of my story, in my eyes, something that is an honor and a humbling experience. United States, Canada, Australia, United Kingdom, Germany, Sweden, Netherlands, Belgium, New Zealand, Brazil, Poland, The Russian Federation, Israel, Spain, Bulgaria, Singapore, France, India, Syria, China, Iraq, Bolivia, Egypt, South Africa, Iran…the list goes on and on to the point that I think all told I've had people from every country on earth look at this story. Every single one of you has your own history, your own culture, your own society that goes through the ages. All of your histories and cultures make you Human, as quintessentially Human, and in many ways as alien as Turian or Asari or Salarian to another. I can talk to a friend from Atlanta about the American Civil War and her opinions are as different to mine as they would be if I discussed the Second World War with someone from Hamburg. That diversity, that richness of history puts me in a dilemma.**

**Should I stick with what I know? American Culture and society? American semi-rural East Coast society? My own comfort zone and prejudices (for lack of an appropriate term). Something that is as alien to a resident of New York City as it would be to someone from Mozambique…or do I branch out, explore different cultures, acknowledge the differences and attempt to portray an over reaching goal of showing that despite our histories and cultures, we are all Humans?**

**A difficult issue to address, but I will attempt to do this right and well and I hope that my fans and readers understand that any errors on my part, and mitigation or minimization of aspects of your histories and cultures is not out of Malice, but the actions of someone who genuinely desires to expand the depth and feel of his art and do justice to what he speaks of.**

**Now on with my chapter.**

**(Oh, and my Wikipedia search history is **_**freaky**_** after this chapter.)**

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><p><strong>Zeta Reticuli, Northern Continent Occupation District, January 23<strong>**rd**** 2171**

Wastelands.

That's all that you could see on Zeta Reticuli. Deserts that rolled from horizon to horizon, strewn with the ruins of a civilization who had been almost entirely wiped from existence in a short and terrible conflict. You couldn't find any signs of life outside of the internment camps that held millions of Reticulans in meager conditions, or the massive garrison bases that existed purely to keep watch over the quarantined world. It was a dead wasteland, a shattered husk of a planet that had given birth to life, but which had slowly taken back it's gift through the millenia…robbing the sentient beings who called this harsh world home of their chance at life beneath the twin blistering suns that hung high over it's trackless wastes. A hundred thousand years of civilization had risen and struggled against the barely habitable conditions of their homeworld, pushing the boundaries of technology and science to sustain their existence until they became little more than scavengers in the grand scheme of things. Feeding off of 'lesser beings' from across the stars, stealing their genetic information and using them as cattle to propagate and feed their dying people…coldly and effectively harvesting what they needed from those who they deemed lesser than themselves. Until the Systems Alliance came from the sky, the species which they had sought to feed from next had retaliated against them…and in the span of months, their world was devastated by warfare and invasion on a scale which they did not think possible. Or rather…did not think would ever touch upon their home.

Metropolises and immense cities were leveled through vicious warfare. Orbital installations and facilities plunged from the skies along with the shattered ruins of the Reticulan Orbital craft. The infrastructure of the Reticulan civilization was shattered in days…and in the wake of it, millions upon millions of gray skinned aliens were slaughtered in brutal war. Those who resisted were killed by the invading Alliance forces. Those who surrendered faced internment for the rest of their lives. A world of a billion was reduced to bare millions…and a century after, their progeny were still guarded and caged. The skies of their world still glittered with orbital bases and satellites, but these were to keep them in, not serve the Reticulans.

The Alliance never truly discovered how many species had been harvested by the Reticulans. The aliens never co-operated with their occupiers, and the data on their victims was never recovered. Some Alliance researchers believed that dozens of civilizations had been harvested by the Reticulans to sustain their civilization. Hundreds of billions of lives, reduced to little more than food and genetic material. The immensity of that clinical and emotionless slaughter was something that couldn't be fathomed by anyone who had never been to Zeta Reticuli. Those psionicly adept individuals who would make contact with Reticulans during interrogation or attempts to 'rehabilitate' them all told the same story.

The Reticulans did not care. All other beings were cattle for their use. No more, no less, and there would be no changing that status in their eyes. No remorse, no surrender…nothing but cold, analytical condemnation. There had been many who had wished to simply eradicate every Reticulan. Wipe the species from existence completely and be done with it…but the Alliance were not genocidal murderers, and no matter how deserving of death their race might be, no being would face annihilation for the crimes of it's forbearers.

So Zeta Reticuli was quarantined, until such time as the Reticulan Species would be able and willing to co-exist with the rest of the galaxy as peaceful equals. A century had drug on, with Alliance troops garrisoning a wasteland and watching aliens in camps…making sure that they could never rise up and threaten the lives of Alliance citizens. Thankless, tiring, wasteful work, but a job that needed to be done.

"Boring as fuck today, isn't it?" Came the tired voice over the platoon net. Another trooper grousing, for the most part anonymous unless Lieutenant Zabaleta decided to check the logs and find out who it was. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything as he shifted in the command seat of his SLAV. He raised his helmeted head out of the gatling laser copula, looking at the convoy of vehicles that made up his platoon's patrol. The SLAVs, or Special Light Armored Vehicles were rumbling through the expansive wastelands that made up Zeta Reticuli, searching for rebels, insurrectionists, and terrorists. But most Reticulan hold outs simply hid and didn't try to tangle with any of the Alliance garrison patrols. Not that Zabaleta didn't wish for some kind of action, he just knew that he wouldn't be seeing much as he removed a pair of macro binoculars from their pouch and holding them up to the view plate of his armor to get a better look at his surroundings.

He sighed as he slowly panned the macros around and saw nothing but drifting sand covering shattered ruins in the icy weather. There was nothing to see, nothing to expect…and logically, he knew he had to keep alert, but it was pretty hard when things were boring. He looked back at the convoy moving along on patrol. Most of the modular SLAV vehicles had been re tooled for patrol duty. The core design stretched back over a century and a half and was surprisingly rugged, the modular vehicles were well armored and angular to deflect weapons fire and explosions, simple to operate, and capable of being rebuilt for different roles. Most of the convoy had the rear 'passenger' cabin armor removed and were little more than open flatbed vehicles with firing positions in addition to the gatling laser emplacement in each that the 'co-driver' could use. It was intended to allow troops on patrol to dismount quickly to engage ambushes, or to provide maximum firepower while on the move. But Zabaleta saw most of his platoon slouched over in the backs of the SLAVs, eyes looking outwards, but most conversing and slacking. The Lieutenant felt like cursing, but knew it wouldn't help that much.

"Yeah, it is fucking boring isn't it?" He said over the open comm and heard his platoon chuckle at their LT's observation.

"Why are we doing this LT?" Came another voice, a low growl that came from his Aslan sergeant four vehicles back.

"Ours is not to reason why…" Zabaleta said and heard a few muttered endings to the timeless soldier's saying…all of them aggravated, and many obscene.

"…ours is but to do." The Aslan replied.

"Yeah…I hate this as much as the rest of you do, but we don't have much choice, I'd rather be back at base sleeping too, but we are soldiers, and if you want to sit around doing nothing…I'm sure the Reticulans would _love_ to have you." Zabaleta said with a sardonic grin behind his faceplate. There were chuckles at that, but he knew a lot of troopers were shivering at the thought. All Alliance Garrison bases were situated far away from the Reticulan internment camps, and they were all guarded by powerful psionic nullifiers to keep the powerfully psionic aliens from manipulating any Alliance personnel. But there were still soldiers who went missing…some who vanished without even leaving behind a memory in the minds of their unit and only appearing in personnel records and letters from home that went unanswered. That was something that chilled any soldier to the bone…a foe you couldn't fight, one that could get into your head and change whatever it wanted.

One that did it so that it could experiment on you.

All trooper armor on Zeta Reticuli was equipped with psionic nullifiers, but they weren't effective if you were overrun and your helmet got pried off, or if your armor was damaged. It got enough soldiers attention that the slouched and lazing troopers in the SLAVs straightened up and began looking out again.

"Alright, we don't want them getting us, so stay alert, and we'll be back to base before we know it. Otherwise…I'm sure my balls will be of exceptional interest to some rebel scientist." Zabaleta said jokingly and heard laughter over the platoon comm. Just the right mixture of relaxed and tense was what you needed on something like this, tense enough to keep alert, relaxed enough that you didn't waste all your energy in the first hour. Zabaleta looked at the map display on the inside of the armored cupola, checking the patrol progress as the vehicles moved through the arid ruins.

"LT, I've got eyes on unknown aerospace craft to the north. I thought this was a cleared sky zone, nobody mentioned a change…" Sergeant Ft'ranka said, and Zabaleta looked back at the convoy before turning his eyes north to see if he could make out the craft. He saw the dark spot hanging in the whitish blue sky and raised his macros again. He flicked on a comm line to the battalion CP.

"Strider Base, this is Strider Four. I am at location 235132-400315 headed eastwards on patrol, I have sighted an unidentified aerospace craft in this zone, has it's status been changed from clear skies?" Zabaleta asked. Clear Skies meant that a zone had absolutely no approved aerospace craft activity in it. Such steps were undertaken to minimize the Reticulan rebel's ability to use what few aerospace craft they could grow, since anything airborne in the zone was annihilated by orbital batteries. No IFF's or ID's were waited for. If your craft was airborne, it was vaporized.

"Repeat, Strider Four?" The comm replied.

"Is this zone clear skies or not? I have eyes on aerospace craft." Zabaleta said looking through his macros again to see the sleek looking craft begin landing. At this distance he couldn't judge size very well, but the outline looked to be of Citadel design, not Alliance. As he watched, the craft dipped low along the horizon and out of his line of sight.

"Negative Strider Four, zone is still Clear, we have no sensor data on any aerospace craft of any kind." The comms officer from Battalion HQ replied, though it sounded as if he was trying to get more information, someone was talking to him from off mic.

"I'm moving my detail to investigate Strider Base, over."

"Acknowledged, we are moving in reinforcements to assist you, exercise caution Strider Four."

"Alright, we have an known craft landing, we're moving to investigate. Check weapons, this is possible enemy contact. They aren't authorized and they aren't showing up on sensors." Zabaleta called over the platoon network and saw his troopers sit up a bit more. A boring as hell mission has suddenly gotten all too exciting. He saw the soldiers sweeping their weapons outwards and then ducked back down into the control section of the SLAV. He brought up the tactical display holo and made a few checks on the terrain before inputting a maneuver plan across the terrain. He gave it a once over and nodded, hitting the transmit key and sending it out to his unit. He saw his driver check his own display and nod before turning off their coursed and start rumbling through the rolling hills of sand covered ruins. Zabaleta watched the rest of the platoons vehicles take other routes and then switched on recon images from the orbital sensor arrays. But the theoretical landing site only came up with static.

"Strider Base, this is Strider Four. I'm getting only static from the look down sensors. Can you confirm?" Zabaleta said over his link, switching through various uplinks. He only had access to the reconnaissance information from orbital assets. If they had been airborne, he could have entered a tasking queue and possibly had them detailed to other locations to see if it was a technical problem…but he didn't have that luxury.

"Strider Four, current issue is unknown, believed technical. We have no assets available that can give ident on that location." the Battalion comm officer replied, and even through the unnatural 'flattening' of his voice through the encryption algorithms and filtering, he sounded a little nervous. Zabaleta shook his head a little and knew that Alliance technology was good, and extremely rugged, battle AI's, technical systems and excellent engineering made issues nonexistent…but when they cropped up, sometimes you couldn't get past the fact that they weren't working. Some troopers froze up when that happened.

"Confirm, we'll do this the old fashioned way then." Zabaleta replied and looked at small holo display projected into his helmet visor, shaking his head. The young commander lifted his helmeted head out of the copula and looked out at the rolling terrain as the SLAV's anti-grav system let it maneuver over the uneven ground with minimal problems. Levering himself up and standing up in the hatch he raised his macros again, and caught a few fleeting glimpses of the craft hovering in the air. Fingering one of the controls on the macros he captured an image of the craft and his suit AI began accessing the archives to get an identification on the vessel.

"Strider Base, my suit AI is currently working on possible ID of unknown aerospace craft, is there any ETA on resumption of orbital observation of the area?"

"Negative Strider Four, Orbital net has been compromised by unknown forces. Possible info-war operation. We are changing status of your zone to Friendly skies. I repeat, Friendly skies, check your fire." The Battalion relayed and Zabaleta nodded before checking the AI's progress on an identification.

"AI, report." Zabaleta said and saw a screen capture of the craft appear inside his view screen.

"Vessel represents Citadel standard design. Class, Freighter. Manufacturer, Salarian. Owner, Civilian. Role, Modified transport. Synopsis, private military vessel." The AI said in synthesized tones.

"Alright…" Zabaleta said and remained silent, listening to the sergeants checking the rest of the platoon over the comm net and the stray bits of chatter as the unit spread out into the assigned assault formation. The kilometers clicked off quickly as the SLAVs moved through the ever present Reticulan ruins and into position. First Squad was with him, the trio of SLAVs making up the center of the line, while second and third flanked him, at a distance, while fourth had fallen in behind him with the support squad. It was a standard formation for Alliance Army troops, simple and effective. Zabaleta checked the distance to the objective and nodded as the SLAV patrol reached his designated waypoints. The small 'ravine' had been formed out of what used to be a Reticulan street flanked by two lines of buildings that had been leveled by the Marine assault in the area. Blown sand and a century of decay had left it a tumbled series of rubble 'hills' that sheltered the SLAVs from casual sight.

"Dismount, let's go!" Called the squad leaders as they leapt from the backs of the vehicles and climbed down into the sand, troopers following along behind and fanning out in a skirmish line. The unit began moving up the hill, Zabaleta moving with them, not content to remain with the vehicles. The soldiers half scrambled, half crawled up the rolling and uneven rubble, making their way to the top with weapons ready. Zabaleta slung his rifle and instead brought up his macros, checking his tac map again and noting that the other squads were in position behind their own ruins. Zabaleta felt a small twinge of worry, things were going too easy…But he shook it off, his soldiers were good, and if you spent your time worrying about things going too well, they usually went badly due to your caution. He glanced left and right, noting the squad checking towards him then forward, and nodded. Instead of using comms, he gestured for the Platoon sergeant to accompany him up to the 'edge' of the ruins and observe.

Crawling up over the uneven rubble and sand, Zabaleta reached a small opening in what had been a window of shattered stone, and peered through it. The freighter was hovering over the ruins, it's cargo bay open into what looked to be a modified hanger judging from the shuttle that was entering it. Zabaleta looked down and saw a collection of troops scattered beneath it…and the smaller forms of…

"Reticulan rebels…" Zabaleta murmured seeing the bioarmor clad xenos scattered about. A large number of them were scattered about…over a hundred.

"What the hell…" The Platoon sergeant murmured, his own macros at his visor. They were heavily outnumbered, and attacking would be a singularly bad idea. Neither soldier had to speak for that simple message to get across. But Zabaleta opened his comm to Battalion.

"This is Strider four. I have eyes on a Citadel make freighter and one hundred plus Reticulan Rebels in contact with Blue Suns PMC forces. I am requesting Air support and backup." Zabaleta said looking at the Blue Suns soldiers who were busy moving Reticulans into formation.

"LT…they look like they're moving Reticulans into the freighter. Why the hell would they want to move these damn things off-world?" Sergeant Ft'ranka murmured, counting Blue Suns and Reticulans. They were all well armed, even heavy combat mechs in attendance with them. They were clearly prepared for something…that something was clearly Zabaleta and his soldiers, even if they didn't know it. But right now, Zabaleta was on his comlink and was speaking to dead air.

"Strider Four to Strider Base. Come in. Strider Base, respond." Zabaleta said clearly, but was only getting static. He grimaced behind his armor's faceplate and shook his head.

"What is going on, Blue Suns, Reticulans…info-war. Damn it, who the hell managed that…" Sergeant Ft'ranka growled.

"I don't know, our networks are hardened and use AI encryption algorithms with SI design, but someone hacked it. Took down comms networks and orbital surveillance. We're blind and deaf." Zabaleta said, watching Reticulans boarding another shuttle to be ferried up to the cargo ship.

"We can't let them get off planet." Sergeant Ft'ranka said.

"I'm aware Sergeant." Zabaleta shot back, holstering his macro binoculars and checking his rifle.

"Orders sir?" Ft'ranka asked.

"I want the support squad up here and we'll lay down enfilade fire, every piece of anti-tank we have though goes against that freighter, try to take out the engines so they can't escape. Small arms fire is to pin down the Reticulans and Blue Suns mercs as best we can and eliminate them. We keep up the fire until support arrives." Zabaleta said calmly, checking his rifle for a moment. His Aslan Sergeant nodded and gestured to the troopers. Beneath them the Support squad dismounted and moved up the rubble, carrying their support weapons. The mortar team kept manning their weapon in the back of one of the SLAVs while the light support weapons were set up. The squads formed up into position in minutes, but in that time the shuttle had been ferrying more and more of the Reticulan rebels into the transport. Zabaleta cursed softly, but knew that shouting wouldn't get things set up any faster.

"Ready sir." Ft'ranka said and Zabaleta nodded, raising his rifle and aiming in on one of the Blue Suns mercenaries who was directing the loading operation. The integral sight centered on the gun for hire's helmet. Zabaleta knew that his rifle wasn't top of the line, it was almost archaic. Projectile rifle, caseless rounds, mechanical operation, optical scope…all things that were over a century old. But the weapon had one advantage over the advanced energy weapons that Marines and assault units used…even the mass effect based weapons used by Citadel forces…

It didn't have any complicated electronic systems and hardware that had to operate perfectly for the weapon to fire. Simple, brutal, inelegant technology. The systems in his armor were heavily shielded from EMP interference, and even if his suit systems were neutralized he could still fight inside his armor…but small arms were a different matter, shield and protect the systems in a rifle or handgun that uses mass effect fields and it would be too damn heavy to carry. Zabaleta smiled behind his faceplate, shifting his aim and finally keying into the support network, his neural link letting him formulate a fire plan as fast as he could think it. He also laid out the fire zones of the entire platoon with an addendum and sent it to his unit.

"Confirmed?" He asked and received an affirmative signal from his unit. Zabaleta nodded and the armor chronos for his entire platoon began ticking off seconds as the electromag mortar's magazine was loaded to the LT's specifications. As the chrono hit zero, every enhancement in each trooper's armor deactivated, and the mortar ripple fired four shells in rapid succession, it's own systems cutting fast in the wake. The four rounds were arced in perfectly, low and fast at minimal power they bracketed the hovering freighter and detonated in unison. Electro Magnetic Pulse rounds, each one setting off a pulse of energy on the right wavelength to overload the systems in the Blue Suns weapons, and to blind the freighter they were using to carry the Reticulans.

The mercenaries and Reticulans dove for cover in quite different ways as the mortar shells went off. The Blue Suns dove and twisted, moving towards whatever scraps of cover they could find, aiming their weapons outward…but all of it was ingrained training, no co-ordination in their actions. The Reticulans were…chillingly effective. As one the Reticulan rebels looked up at the mounds of rubble the Army troops were covered behind, scanning with their deep black almond shaped eyes and reaching out with their psionic powers to locate the slight 'dead zone' marked by the psi nullifiers. Zabaleta felt the creeping fingers of the alien consciousness probing his mind for a long heartbeat before his armor switched back 'on' and the nullifier blocked his mind from Reticulan molestation. The Gray aliens clad in brownish crimson bio-armor raised their weapons and began firing, moving into their own cover with a single minded precision that the Blue Suns were simply incapable of exhibiting.

Zabaleta flicked the selector on his rifle and started firing into the Reticulans, 7mm rounds thundering downrange as his platoon did the same. Muzzle flashes erupted from cover and the long high pitched whine of the support weapons began filling the air. Some of it was projectile weapons, others were the lethal sprays of needles fired from the squad's gauss weapons. As Zabaleta fired, he noted that the support unit was leveling every round of HE it could into the freighter that was hanging in the air above them. Zabaleta cursed as he saw the rounds detonate against the mass effect barriers surrounding the ship, rocking the craft, but not taking it down. He kept firing as rounds cracked down into the Reticulans and Blue Suns as laser fire lanced through the air and began peppering his platoon's positions.

Zabaleta ducked as electrolaser fire struck the stones near his head. He scowled and tried his comm system again.

"This is Strider Four, we are engaged with enemy units, I say again, we are engaged with hostile forces, Reticulan and Blue Suns. Requesting support, I say again, requesting support!" He snapped, looking to Sergeant Ft'ranka as the Aslan fired, then glanced to Zabaleta.

"We can't win this Lieutenant, they're pulling out." Ft'ranka said and pointed down into the marshalling point, the Blue Suns were racing towards one of the small shuttles, while a final load of Reticulans moved into another. Above them, the freighter began to move in the air and rise higher. The mortar fire wasn't even slowing it down. Zabaleta cursed and looked at the Reticulans still firing up at his platoon. They weren't trying to kill, they were just trying to keep his men pinned…and Zabaleta's eyes went wide as he saw them retreating into a passageway.

"They're running, get me mortar fire on that opening!" Zabaleta ordered sharply, his helmet's designator laser focusing on the entry and marking it for the mortars. In a second, rounds were slamming into the ground that the Reticulans were retreating over. Bodies tumbled as high explosive ordinance detonated, eliciting a nod of approval, at least all the rebels wouldn't escape. But as he looked to the shuttles, he saw both of them lifting off and racing into the sky after the freighter.

In another minute, the battle was over, the Reticulans retreating into the underground warrens that had sheltered their kind for a century, while the Blue Suns transport was only a memory. Carefully, Zabaleta scanned the field and shook his head at the sight of tumbled bodies and mangled remains. With a gesture he moved his unit forward and into the landing area, weapons ready for anything…but knowing that there wouldn't be traps, the Reticulans didn't fight that way. What he did find was…worrisome. Storage cases of Reticulan weapons and equipment, electrolasers, missile launchers, plasma weapons…all of it precious to them. Zabaleta lifted an electrolaser out of a dead Reticulan's hand, the long fragile fingers limp in death, and looked at the weapon.

"Why the hell would they give this up? They horde what little equipment they have religiously." Zabaleta asked aloud and looked at Sergeant Ft'ranka who was nudging a lifeless Blue Suns mercenary over with his boot.

"Why would they come here Lieutenant? Reticulans ain't exactly warm and fuzzy." Ft'ranka said.

"I don't know, but whatever brought them here, I don't like it. Have third Platoon send a fire team back to base and get reinforcements here, ASAP. Command is going to want to mull this over." Zabaleta said and dropped the electro laser onto the bioarmor clad body of the Reticulan, shaking his head. The Reticulans had always been a mystery to the Alliance, but why anyone would want to smuggle them off world was an even bigger one. But Zabaleta wasn't paid to figure out mysteries, he was paid to fight.

* * *

><p><strong>Hong Kong, January 25<strong>**th**** 2171**

To call Hong Kong a metropolis would be the greatest stretch of the word. It would be better to describe the city as an Arcology would be much more accurate. Home to Fifteen million Alliance citizens from it's gleaming sky scrapers that seemed crammed into every square inch across the islands to the undersea habitats that had slowly pushed out into the waters of Aberdeen Harbor and into the South China Sea, Hong Kong gleamed in transparent aluminum faced buildings during the day, and blazed with light during the night. Home to the Chung space elevator that rose from the top of Kowloon peak to link to the Zheng He high-port in orbit, the city had continued it's role as one of the worlds most prosperous and important cities even with the growth of the human race to the stars. Historically the city had been heralded as the place where 'east met west', formerly a colonial holding of the British Empire, then a special administrative region of the Peoples Republic of China, the city had been heavily devastated during the decades long war between China and India that had raged prior to the announcement of the Prothean ruins. Rebuilt better than before, the city was a tribute to the cosmopolitan nature of the Systems Alliance…one could find any earth culture or member species in the sprawling environs of Hong Kong, it was even commonplace to see Citadel races doing business in this mecca of commerce and trade.

But Hong Kong was also a place where beings could meet and blend into a crowd of millions without drawing curious looks or glances. It was well used by the Systems Alliance Intelligence Service and the Security Service for moving agents and materials covertly, and creating legitimate data-trails for other agents to move as travelers…or buy anything that you need, legal or otherwise in the shadier and more…colorful regions of the city.

"_Rioting in the Vancouver megalopolis has stretched into it's second day after a startling call during the Stanley Cup finals between the Canadian Canucks and Russian Muskovites. After a controversial offsides call against the Canucks that gave the Muskovites a win in the tie game riots erupted throughout the city. Local police have been unable to contain the situation and the Security Service has moved almost ten thousand additional Riot police and regular officers to assist the Vancouver Police Department." _The holo announcer said as images of rioting crowds filled the vid and lines of VCPD officers tried to disperse them. The vid was obscured by a thin haze of cigarette smoke that filled the interior of the bar, most of the clientele not interested in news reports, but preferred to sit and consider their food and drinks, or chat quietly with their own companions. Like most dive bars throughout space, it was dim and the air was slightly stale…and the front door of the place had probably last seen direct light during the changeover from British to Chinese rule.

But the pair of beings sitting at the bar slightly away from everyone preferred every negative over something more mainstream and 'civilized'. Spies didn't like the hustle and bustle of the kinds of places you took a date or sat down with your family. No…they liked places where you choked on the smoke, didn't trust the food and wondered if the drinks were watered.

"You know I hate this place." Trieu Chu Banh said leaning over his drink and letting his eyes drift over the holo screen behind the bar. He lifted the glass and took a long drag off his beer, not making any sudden movements, knowing that even if he had become a 'regular' at this place…they wouldn't take kindly to any commotion. Although this was the kind of place where 'wouldn't take kindly to' meant 'shoot'. Trieu looked over his shoulder casually and noticed his backup was sitting quietly and for the most part being inconspicuous. Fenyang was sitting at a table reading his news on his holo display, looking slightly out of place with his dark skin, but not exactly unheard of…South Africa was a ways off, but he wasn't drawing as much attention as the Drow woman sitting in the booth eating her Dim Sum with chopsticks, and she was Trieu's other backup for this little meeting…and her purpose was to draw the eye as blatantly as possible. Female Drow tended to do that.

"But I enjoy it, things are more familiar and the clientele doesn't change too much. Where are your old friends? The Vargr with the itchy trigger finger, and the Vegan who decided that conversation meant 'broken liquor bottle'?" The Salarian said with a smirk from behind his cowl. The alien chuckled slightly as he lifted his own drink and sipped at it, the bartender glaring at the two.

"Well, the service is rather concerned about meeting with spies." Trieu said and shook his head. The Security Service didn't usually talk with foreign intelligence services, especially Citadel intelligence services. But the Salarian STG had been rather intent on an 'understanding' with the Alliance, if only on a discreet level. The Intelligence Service and Security Service both had traditions that ran back through hundreds of years, and apparently humans were shadier than most species of the galaxy…or as the Turians liked to say 'more devious and malicious' than most species of the galaxy. Trieu shook his head slightly and wondered just why the Salarians had wanted their intelligence network to make 'polite' contact with the Alliance. But Trieu hadn't had much opportunity to ask, the Salarians didn't provide much explanation as to their reasoning, but the Vietnamese agent had long since decided that the Salarians were willing to speak to the Alliance when it benefited them…and that was something that all intelligent beings seemed to share.

"Concerned, yes, concerned enough to send shadows, concerned enough to put up bugs and surveillance, concerned enough that you want to figure out where I go…but then that's part of the great game, isn't it?" Graddik said with another smile and a flourish of his hands.

"Concerned. But you're concerned about something, aren't you Graddik? Otherwise you wouldn't be here. What has you so concerned?" Trieu asked, smiling slightly.

"What do you know about Reticulans?" Graddik asked, and Trieu's eyes narrowed.

"Just what most Alliance Citizens know. Nasty pieces of work, they invaded countless worlds, harvested them for genetic material, food, resources, whatever they could use. They committed genocide against countless species, and they don't want to be members of the Alliance, even after invasion and occupation." Trieu said, looking at his drink.

"They aren't all on Zeta Reticuli anymore." Graddik said and Trieu's head snapped up.

"Oh? And why is that?" He asked cautiously, information like that would be rather…important.

"That one is free Agent, your government is already well aware of their prison break. But they aren't aware of the why or the how." Graddik said with another of is smiles that seemed to not have a hint of humor in it, and yet seemed to be ever present and directed at something.

"So why don't you tell me that?" Trieu said, lifting his beer.

"Well, if I knew that I wouldn't be here. All I know is that your systems were penetrated and neutralized by an extremely advanced info-war and cyber-warfare assault. _That_ is something that is beyond the capabilities of the Citadel, Agent."

"Alliance combat info-nets are hardened to defeat cyber-warfare assaults…" Trieu said, slightly disbelieving at that statement.

"I am well aware, we have studied that kind of thing you know." Graddik replied with a chuckle and then gestured for another drink. The bartender complied quickly, but let his gaze linger for a few extra seconds on the Salarian.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you have. My point is that the Citadel doesn't use combat Artificial intelligences, VI's yes…but AI's aren't loyal enough according to your leadership. Only our Synthetic intelligences can come close to cracking battle encrypts, but it takes months for them to work through it with almost total processor dedication to the task. The information is useless…not to mention that's only passive gathering."

"Exactly. Even your Geth friends can't slice your encrypts. We're pretty sure that they've tried…but that's another matter that I didn't come here to talk about…" Graddik said with the air of someone who was discussing something that they knew was boring the other person in the conversation…but Trieu's eyebrows ratcheted up a notch at hearing that tidbit. The Geth had maintained that they were simply interested in being left alone…but trying to crack the communications of your only peaceful contact with the rest of the galaxy…that was rather problematic.

"Geth?"

"Ah, a rather boring conversation topic I think. I was speaking of the rather unfortunate incident on Zeta Reticuli…and the fact that your battle nets were infiltrated by a cyber-warfare attack and virus that opened a gap in your networks. That capability is not something that the Citadel possesses. It would take a machine intelligence of extreme size and capacity. A supercomputer with AI functionality and immense versatility. The Citadel doesn't have it." Graddik said casually, his smile not shifting as he spoke.

"So? Denying any involvement so we don't blame you?" Trieu said.

"Partly, but I would prefer to ask, does your organization have any idea who could have done this?" Graddik asked, more seriously than before.

"Why would we tell you?" Trieu said, his own voice aloof.

"I've shown you mine agent, you show me yours…or did I take you out just to waste my time?" Graddik asked and Trieu nodded tiredly, he tapped his ear and the implant com activated. It had been passively recording the conversation, but Graddik's rules of contact had made it clear that only listening was allowed…talking to superiors was with his permission. It didn't take long for the Security Service agent to receive the reply. _No idea, possibly Geth._

"My lovely handlers say that they have no idea, other than the Geth…but that's just a possibility." Trieu replied.

"What would the Geth want with Reticulans? They're vicious, xenophobic, genocidal monsters. They're no use to any civilized species." Graddik said, just to drop a jab at how closely he studied Alliance Intelligence, Trieu ignored the subtle gamesmanship and instead focused on something else.

"They're good genetic engineers, and they have compact energy weapons. We're rather reluctant to give you ours…so someone on your side of the line might like to get their hands on the two." Trieu said with a smile that was just as humorless as the Salarian's, but had a hint of pride in knowing that he'd pointed out something the Salarian spy had missed.

"That's rather anticlimactic, don't you think?" Graddik said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Money is the root of all evil…" Trieu said softly.

"Perhaps. But that is the only thing that I wished to discuss. As always Agent Banh it's a pleasure." Graddik said, rose from his stool and walked out of the bar. Trieu's support agents didn't register his presence, but he knew that both of them were eager to follow the Salarian spy, but Trieu had learned that the last time they'd tried to follow him had been just as successful as every time. A few turns and Graddik was gone as if he never existed, the kind of field craft and skill that you expected from someone who operated in the heart of the Systems Alliance. Trieu paid his tab and walked out the door, not bothering to try and tail Graddik, even if he wanted to, he had orders.

Stepping into the clean side street, Trieu walked down the street and into one of the main thoroughfares of the city. The crowded sidewalks were filled this late in the evening, elbow to elbow pedestrians walking through the urban canyons lit by garish advertising holos and the running lights of aircars. Hong Kong was full of life, and Trieu knew that for all of Graddik's skills, he didn't have to try very hard to vanish. As he walked through the streets, Trieu opened his com and listened to his lead agent's voice fill his ears.

"Money is the root of all evil? Seriously? You read that off a bad cereal box?" Agent Oviera said sounding more than a little cynical.

"You're just jealous." Trieu said, and he could hear his superior's eye roll.

"Of course I am. So how did Graddik sound to you?" Oviera asked, getting to business after the usual critique. Trieu sighed and nodded reflexively.

"He sounded legitimate in his usually disdainful way. He's never given us bad intelligence before."

"He didn't really give us anything this time Banh. Just information we already knew, of course, it felt like he was pushing us towards the Geth…but that's just Citadel thinking." Oviera said as Trieu turned a street and made his way past the hundred story New World Age Centre and strode onto the waterfront Avenue of Stars, looking out across Victoria Harbor, with it's underwater habitats gleaming from beneath the waves. The agent walked slowly to the edge and leaned on the railing, still silently 'speaking' with his superior.

"Of course it's Citadel thinking, but they aren't usually interested in money, are they?" Trieu replied quietly, his eyes looking at the forms of private yachts in the harbor slowly drifting and illuminated, playthings of the wealthy.

"No…that's worrisome. Private groups worry about money, governments worry about power."

"Yes, but they can be difficult to predict…but they aren't always different." Trieu replied.

"Oh? And what are you thinking Banh?" Oviera asked.

"The Citadel has been drooling over energy weapons. The Batarians are the only group that is allowed to produce them outside of Alliance manufacturers. But they're locked down tight, the technical information has built in signatures and fabrication management technology, they can't export to the Citadel without us knowing about it. But…Reticulan weapons are different…we have technical information on them and the Batarians have the ability to get our technical data. Maybe they want to start exporting energy weapons?" Trieu asked.

"No." The voice on Trieu's com answered.

"It's a valid…" Trieu began but his com was cut off.

"No, it's not."

"What?" Trieu asked and then his eyes narrowed, the voice wasn't as clear now as it had been.

"Agent Banh…you need to remember that Graddik isn't as honest as you think he is. Nor is he going to tell you everything that he knows. Is he?" The voice said, and Trieu straightened as he pinpointed just what the disruption on his comm was, it was a close range transmitter that was overpowering his regular link. He turned and looked around, seeing the statue of Bruce Lee and a figure standing there, hooded as Graddik had been…but the figure beneath the robes was not a Salarian. One hand reached up and pulled back the cowl. The blue feminine features of an Asari were smiling at him.

"And just who are you?" Trieu snapped, his hand drifting to his hip slowly, ready to draw his sidearm. Trieu's professional instincts were telling him just whoever this Asari was, she was trouble. He didn't move closer, but the Asari just smiled that predatory smile and stayed where she was.

"Tela Vasir, Council Spectre." She said professionally.

"Then you're under arrest for Espionage." Trieu said without hesitation, his hand on his sidearm.

"Now, now Agent Banh let's be prudent here. I'm here to give you a warning that Mr. Graddik was not so kind to give you. He drops hints, not the truth." Vasir said darkly, not moving, her eyes drifting over Trieu's sidearm and then back to his face.

"Alright, then what's your warning." Trieu said, knowing just how dangerous this woman was and not keen on trying to take down a Council Spectre without backup. Preferably from a squad of Alliance Marines. He didn't remove his hand from his sidearm though. A Spectre would at least flinch when a few slugs were passing through them.

"Graddik wants you to think Geth…he wants you to think Batarian. There's something bigger than that. Something that's more dangerous than political intrigue. There are a lot of reasons out there for Graddik to tell you lies, but he did tell you the truth about how your networks were hacked, but he only served to muddle things." Vasir said.

"Muddle things? And why would he want to do that?"

"Money is the root of all evil." Vasir said with an evil smile and she turned.

"Who the fuck sent you?" Trieu snapped, his weapon out and in his hand as Vasir paused and looked over her shoulder at him.

"Someone who wants things to remain slightly calmer than they might become." Vasir said with a chuckle.

"The Council?"

"Hardly. But the simple message is this; Why is the Citadel so eager to track down Cerberus?" Vasir said and vanished behind the statue of Bruce Lee, Trieu did not follow her, his eyes fixed on the statue, weapon not drawn, but still in hand.

"Banh, where the hell are you?" Came the far away voice of Agent Oviera in his ear.

"Here." Trieu replied.

"What the hell happened?"

"Things just got more convoluted. We need to speak in person Oviera." Trieu said and flicked off his com…shaking his head at the confusing turn of events…wondering who Tela Vasir was taking her orders from if the Citadel wasn't telling their Spectres what to do.

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><p><strong>Virmire, May 15<strong>**th**** 2171**

Verdant, lush and covered in jungles and vast seas, Virmire had long been considered a virgin garden world, ripe for colonization. But throughout the century that the world had been catalogued and identified, the Citadel hadn't sent any colonist to the world. No matter how nice the house, people won't buy if it's in a bad neighborhood. Virmire was in a bad neighborhood. A galactic stones through from the Terminus systems, any colony drive would be horribly exposed to criminal groups and pirates based in the almost completely lawless zone, and extremely distanced from the Citadel Fleets, it was a combination of bad factors. Virmire had been set as 'off limits' to the galaxy at large. But for someone in need of privacy, it was a perfect world to use for a base. No colonies limited it's utility to traders and removed it as a target for slavers, and without any development, there was no reason for the curious to poke around. It was the perfect location for a Spectre to set up his own private base to start a war from.

Hidden in the crags and costal canyons Saren's facility had been constructed and built with secrecy and security as his main concerns. Built by mechs and contract labor that had been destroyed and killed after their utility had expired. Financed by a personal fortune, Saren's operations had grown over the past year by leaps and bounds all of it in service of one goal, saving the Citadel.

"Sir, the transport is here." One of the mercenaries said to the Spectre as he stood looking out across the roughly rolling oceans. He looked over his shoulder and nodded at the merc, not gracing him with anything more than contempt. The Mercenaries were useful pawns, tools to be utilized for his objective, just like the fools in Cerberus. Saren didn't care if they lived or died, they were merely to be sacrificed for a greater good if needed. The Turian turned and walked off of the balcony, through the base. Much of it was completed, but he was still short when it came to staff. He had many hired guns, but he needed an army, and that army needed scientists to provide the proper bulk and to give him valuable soldiers…and he also needed to provide the Citadel with weapons and equipment which could fight the Alliance and counter their technological edge. The transport held both of those things in one form or another. Saren had studied the information on the Reticulans closely, he knew what kind of beings they were, but he also knew that they were simple to control if done properly.

As Saren strode through the corridors of his base, he made note of everything that needed to be done, the vast task that he had to undertake and for a moment felt tired at the mere contemplation of it. So much needed to be done, so much needed to be accomplished…but with a surge of purpose, he knew that if anyone was going to secure the Citadel's future ascendancy over the Alliance, it would be him. He was their best, he was their most capable, and he was the only one that knew the true size of the threat posed by the Alliance. The Citadel only knew the most topical threats to it's power and influence. Yes, the Alliance was strong, but it's power and strength was merely a fraction of the Citadel's…it was more insidious than an overt threat like the Krogan or the Rachni had been. They could infect the Citadel with a taint that would destroy everything that the Citadel was.

Saren shook his head, chasing away the thoughts. They were so intent, so constant, it was hard for him to think clearly. But he shrugged off the thought, when you knew how grave a threat something was to the galaxy you had to do whatever it took to destroy it. Some thoughts were inescapable, but the Reticulans were an issue which demanded his full attention. After a few moments of walking through corridors, he emerged on the landing pad as the large freighter settled into place. Holding up his hand to shield his face from the down blast of the landing craft, Saren noted that there were more mercenaries waiting that he had expected. With a wave of his free arm, he signaled them to leave. Some hesitated, but not for long, no one dared cross Saren, they all knew his reputation and they knew that they were expendable. The mercenaries moved away as the freighter settled into place, it's cargo ramp descending.

Saren could feel the touch on his brain from them.

He suppressed a shudder as the alien consciousness pressed against his thoughts, tried to sift his mind, but as it pressed, he felt it recoil sharply. The Turian knew that the Reticulans viewed other sentient beings as merely cattle for their use…and as they descended from the cargo bay, he could see just why the Alliance was so concerned with their escape. There was something wrong about them. The eyes that held nothing but darkness, the way they moved as a complete unit…every being moved with purpose and intent, acting as part of the greater whole. They were a conscious mind, a shared consciousness.

The Spectre drew himself up and looked at the assembled Reticulans, their bioarmor brownish red and wrapped around their bodies like corded tentacles. Saren saw the shimmer of their personal shielding, and he cast a wary eye to their weapons, knowing that they were deadly in the right hands…and those Reticulans were without a doubt, the right hands. The armored forms of the Blue Suns crew marched along after them, all of the elite troopers looking nervous and on edge. Saren nodded and gestured for them to leave, compliance with that order was not something that any of them had to consider. The bulk of the soldiers left the landing pad, weapons still in hand. But one stayed behind, standing stock still and unmoving. Saren looked at the mercenary, then back to the assembled Reticulans. There were over two hundred of them. They'd been shuffled around for five months to make sure that nothing was trailing their transport, five months of waiting for this moment.

"What…do you want from us?" The mercenary choked out, and Saren glanced at the man for a moment before focusing his gaze on the cold black eyes gazing at him. He felt the touch of their minds, but not as deeply as it had been before, they felt…afraid, timid, reluctant to make contact with him.

"I have given you your freedom, and in return I want your expertise." Saren said, not complaining about the Reticulan's reluctance to try to manipulate him.

"You wish for our…expertise? You wish for our slavery." The mercenary said, merely parroting the words that the Reticulans commanded him to say.

"I invested much to free you, I took a great risk. You will do as I wish, or you shall die." Saren said calmly.

"Death holds no fear."

"All things fear death."

"We are superior, death holds no fear. You are here for our service. You are here for our needs. You will serve us, you will provide for us." The mercenary said.

"No." Saren replied calmly.

"Your wish is irrelevant."

"You will do as I command, otherwise you will face a fate far worse than death." Saren replied, and the touch on his mind pressed hard once more. It threatened to engulf his thoughts, but before he could even speak, draw breath to protest…or even scream, the presence in his mind did. It was as shocking as having an explosion detonate in a quiet room, overpowering…sensations, rocked his mind. Saren wondered just what they had touched inside his brain, just why the Reticulans were reluctant to do anything.

"You are…abomination…" The mercenary choked out, barely coherent. His mouth moved erratically and he seemed to be making random noises as he tried to speak. The Reticulans kept staring at him, but he could sense that there was something going on, the touch to his mind was gone completely.

As if something had terrified them.

"You will obey me." Saren said, and took a step forward.

"Abomination!" The merc cried out, and the Reticulans visibly stepped back from him.

"Fear. Raw fear. What is it you fear in me xenos?" Saren said with a sneer on his features.

"You are…tainted…by the Elder Things." The mercenary choked, and dropped to his knees, his body was wracked with spasms, trying to stay standing while he twitched and writhed. The Reticulans weren't going to let the mercenary leave where he was, they weren't going to release him, and judging by the blood trickling from the human's eyes and nose he wasn't going to live through this conversation.

"The Elder Things…yes…I know what you speak of. You are afraid of them." Saren said.

"You are tainted…corruption…will never leave you…the Elder Things…they merely destroy and harvest." The mercenary choked and fell to the landing pad, crimson blood splashing across white ferrocrete and blue armor yet he continued to convulse.

"The Elder Things are not here, they do not wish to be here, but you will serve me and accomplish what I wish."

"What…your plan…you are tainted by them!" The mercenary cried out.

"The Alliance is a threat to the galaxy. You wish freedom for your people, the Elder Things are gone but the Alliance is the threat to your kind and mine." Saren said, and he felt a slight stab of pain in his temple. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, that wasn't right…was it? The Reapers…the machines…it wasn't about the Reticulans…or the Alliance…was it? Saren rubbed his temple, something was…wrong. But he couldn't place it.

"The…Elder…Things…cannot…exist. The Alliance…cannot exist. Our people…die…our mind…dies slowly…" The mercenary said, the Reticulans not moving, but their hold on the dying mouthpiece slowly slipping as it's conscious mind died.

"The Elder Things are not a threat. The Alliance is. They are a threat to your people and to the Galaxy as a whole. They corrupt the galaxy and they cannot stand against the Elder Things. Help me and I will save your people, I will free them from the Alliance and protect them from the Elder Things. All you must do is what you wish to do." Saren said, his head throbbing with pain, his thoughts drifting back to the duty which he could not escape. He had to save the Citadel! He had to force the Alliance into a war, he had to get the Council to destroy them before they became to strong. If he had to use the Reticulans to provide him with weapons to fight the Alliance and armies to support the Council, then so be it. He swore to defend the Galaxy from all threats, to maintain order and stability, he would do whatever it took.

"The Elder Things…are always…threat. Your…taint…blinds you…" The Reticulans said through the mercenary.

"I see more now than I ever did before. If the Alliance survives, then the Galaxy will be destroyed, and your people face slow extinction. The Elder Things are not your enemy. Fight the Alliance, save your people from the slow and silent extinction they have condemned you to." Saren replied, and he felt the pain slowly receding. He looked at the black eyes gazing at him.

"…the…corruption…" The mercenary gasped.

"I am not corrupt. I have not been tainted. If you do not wish to help me, then I will ensure that your people are scoured from the galaxy, and that you are annihilated in the worst way possible. The Elder Things are here, and I command them, do not forget that." Saren said, and he knew that the orbit of the massive ancient ship he had salvaged from Dr. Shu Qian's research. Sovereign, the ships advanced artificial consciousness called itself. The massive vessel was clearly visible in orbit high above and Saren saw the gaze of the Reticulans shift skywards in unison, looking at the massive form. The shock of that was to much for the mercenary's dying mind to process, and he stopped twitching, dead from the strain placed upon his mind. Saren felt the pressure of the Reticulans once more, but it was a psychic spasm rather than a focused probe of his consciousness. They were afraid.

"The last of them serves me, and you will do as I say, or I will annihilate your world without you after I deal with the Systems Alliance." Saren said, the ship was the last according to it's consciousness, it's makers long gone. Saren had wondered if they hadn't been an ancient species, but he couldn't be sure who created the vessel. It had been extremely useful so far, it's discovery had been the impetus that had convinced him that the Alliance was not an insurmountable foe. In fact…it had been after that discovery that he'd decided the Council needed to be encouraged…

He winced as another headache pressed on him. He abandoned the line of thought and decided to focus on the matter at hand. The Reticulans looked at him, eyes probing him, but they were well aware of Sovereign high above, it's black form above their heads…threatening them.

"Will you help me, and help your people at the same time? Or will you doom yourselves to extinction, slow or quick it makes no matter to me." Saren said, and the Reticulans remained silent, staring at him. Their seemingly lifeless gaze did not shift, hundreds of eyes merely watching him as he stood there, and Saren knew that he had them. In unison, they lowered their heads in submission, Saren smiling in savage triumph. He had his weapons and the makings of his army, for the Reticulans would be more than able to cure the Genophage and give the Krogan a population explosion to overwhelm the Alliance before they could halt them. One step of many, one action of many, but with enough, the Alliance would be weakened and destroyed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**** Just a quickie to cut off any flames, I know I shifted the issue with Saren's indoctrination, it was done for a reason and I am well aware of the original Cannon indoctrination and manipulation. I made a creative choice with this, so bare with me, I've got a plan for it.**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **

**Wow, I came up with a two page A/N at the start of this one, and I almost included it in the chapter post. **

**But I decided that it wouldn't be very appropriate, and I'd wasted enough time considering my story from the ground up that delaying the story further wouldn't be a welcome idea, so I deleted it to shake my head clean and started anew…so all I can say is that now I start laughing every time I read the words 'Mary Sue' after I spent a few days looking into all the prominent examples of such characters in popular fiction. I was rather worked up by some of the reviews, but I did take a bit of time and a bit of research to think things over and come to terms with my writing style, and to discover a few things about writing (and a few facts about popular writers and their styles), that made me feel better.**

**But let's move on…its been a while, and my introspection and self examination has caused quite a delay that I apologize for.**

_**Addendum: Edited the Drow/Human confusion, I had made several sweeps before posting, but I didn't get all of them after I changed things around. Sorry about that.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Arcturus Station, June 30<strong>**th****. 2171 **

General Anthony Wayne did not enjoy being the man who had to sit before the House Armed Forces Committee, nor did he like being the man who had to sit and explain defense issues to politicians whose experience with military operations was at best limited to watching embedded news reports on one of the major networks. At worst…they got their ideas of what the military did from holovids and movies of exceptionally dubious value. It was not exactly the kind of audience any career soldier wanted to be speaking to, but General Wayne accepted the fact that he was a military officer who served a freely elected democratic republic. He didn't have the luxury of ignoring the representatives when they wished to discuss matters. Not for the first time, Wayne cursed the fact that he been 'skilled' enough to keep the Committee placated and well informed, hence making him the 'go-to' officer for any requests for explanation by the Parliament.

Even if he was sitting on plush leather furniture going over the briefing documents for the meeting, he still felt uncomfortable. It wasn't hard to reason why, soldiers fought wars, politicians started them. Despite having to answer to them, and despite the fact they were elected, no soldier liked to deal with them. Wayne looked up from his documents and glanced at the three officers who had been tasked with supplementing his testimony. It had been a rather unusual request, considering that most representatives could have private briefings, but the presence of Colonel Mar'iv from the Special Warfare division based on Luna, responsible for research and training of Battle Psis and Biotic capable soldiers. Long known to be exceptional force multipliers, Biotics or Psis were hungrily sought by commanders…along with the Internal Security Forces, Diplomatic Corps and Intelligence agencies. Luckily, the Drow officer was head of their research and development arm, the scientific brains of the operation to understand and exploit the abilities.

Less clear was Colonel Mayborne from High Command's personnel directorate, the organization most responsible for recruitment and force levels of the entire Alliance Military. That had been a rather confusion request, especially since then Personnel Directorate was mainly an administration organization primarily staffed by civilians. You didn't call a military officer in to speak on payroll issues. General Wayne had tried to figure out what, but the slot on the agenda for Colonel Mayborne's discussion had been labled as a 'closed session'. Meaning that there would be no records for public use…Wayne had been rebuked rather politely, but firmly at his questioning.

Lastly was General Eustace Taylor, one of the commanding Generals for the Tuchanka Theater of War. Given the recent difficulties on the Krogan Homeworld, it wasn't surprising that the HAFC would want to get an in depth 'explanation' of the current situation on the devastated Krogan world. General Wayne pittied General Taylor slightly, the situation on Tuchanka had been deteriorating for the past several years. The initial gains made by taking direct control over Krogan Clans to enforce some kind of stability on the militant people had been lost by various Clans who opposed the efforts to 'integrate' the Krogan into the Systems Alliance. Skirmishes, riots, and insurgencies had slowly increased tempo to open battles and mass warfare. The Alliance still held superiority over the world and had more resources to draw on, but the political decision to try and integrate the Krogan was causing a general war…something that the politicians hadn't banked on when they had negotiated for control of the Krogan world.

"General, five minutes until they are ready to hear your presentations." One of the Parliament aides said discretely. General Wayne looked up and closed his data pad, nodding to the Aslan attendant. The General stood, along with the other members who had been summoned to speak and checked his uniform. The other officers checked themselves quickly to make sure that their green dress uniforms were in proper order. General Wayne took a deep breath and the four officers nodded to each other and walked out of the well appointed waiting room, leaving behind their leather chairs and elegant accommodations to venture down the corridors to the assembly chamber. Generals Wayne and Taylor led the way as Colonels Mayborne and Mar'iv followed behind, Wayne resisted the urge to turn at the sound of slight displeasure that Colonel Mar'iv emitted. It hadn't been the first time that Wayne had heard the subtle 'displeasure' that a female Drow officer registered whenever she had to regard a male as a superior. For the most part it was barely one step shy of actual insubordination. Never enough to result in discipline or even official acknowledgement, but Drow females had a uniform habit of displaying it. The Drow had integrated themselves into the Alliance reluctantly, but it was still rather difficult for a male Alliance Citizen of any species to be regarded as equals in Drow space. The Military had faced less 'issues' than the civilian integration simply because even if the Drow didn't like it, they understood how the Armed Forces had to work, and begrudgingly accepted orders and oversight from male officers and non-coms, and regarded male soldiers as…colleagues, if not equals. The situation was still far from the cohesive and co-operative integration enjoyed by the Vegans, Aslan and Vargr had with Humanity.

Not that the Quarians were as easily integrated.

_That_ was another issue that made General Wayne grateful that he wasn't a politician. The Quarian Marines and Navy had been more than willing to integrate with the Alliance Military. They knew how to fight, they knew how chains of command worked, and they were exceptionally pleased with the technology and military power that they were gaining. The Civilians however…they made the Drow look cordial. The 'Quarian Lobby' in Parliament was tiny compared to any of the other powers…but they were vocal. Vocal enough that the Geth 'ambassador' had repeatedly stated it's concerns that the Geth would have to break contact with the Systems Alliance and regard them as a threat. Something that the Alliance Military did not want to contemplate. One of the few issues that the politicians and the soldiers could actually agree on.

As the procession walked down the corridor they turned and marched through the impressive doors to the meeting chamber. Despite years of experience with Arcturus Station and the government levels, he could still be taken aback by the illusion of being in some 18th century palace back on Earth rather than in a space station. The illusion was one that was carefully cultivated by the Alliance Parliament, the subconscious sensation of 'age and weight' was a powerful tool that they used during negotiations, and a powerful incentive for the representatives to remember the weight of history upon them. The entire station was painstakingly designed to resemble 'old world' styles of the various members. Several large areas were being re-designed to accommodate old Quarian architecture and Drow designs. But simply standing in a hall that had been designed to resemble a Greek Parthenon had the unmistakable feeling of intimidation, something that General Wayne knew was a central desire from the seated representatives.

Walking down to the table provided for the Military officers, simple in comparison to the raised and curved levels that the Representatives sat at, visibly higher and giving the impression of surrounding the Officers who were about to speak to them. No military officer was a stranger to intimidation, and the four who walked into the chamber were familiar with the techniques that the politicians used to gain the 'upper hand' when dealing with the military. But as they seated themselves at the long table provided for them, the flims-sheet minutes of the meeting did more to throw them off base than any design esthetics. As General Wayne sat down and read agenda his head slowly raised and his eyes met the head of the House Armed Forces Committee. General Wayne's eyes narrowed as he met the gaze of Representative Gabriel Tanith and could see the slight pleasure in the woman's eyes as she realized the subtle unease that her ploy had garnered. But it wasn't so much the pleasure of causing discomfort, but the reassurance that she held a modicum of control.

"What is the meaning of this representative? I was under the impression that only certain aspects of this meeting would be undertaken in closed session." Wayne said bluntly, not waiting for the standard format of the meeting to proceed. Wayne was more than a little angry about the situation, and he wasn't the kind of man to tolerate this degree of games playing.

"General, I would remind you that this meeting has been called for matters of National Security. The situation on Tuchanka has begun to escalate beyond our previous…forecasts, and beyond the stated capacity of the Alliance Military to contain the situation. The structure of this meeting was altered and made closed because important aspects of the Tuchanka occupation are to be discussed, at the expense of our other topics of discussion." Representative Yagrach said, the Vargr female's voice almost a growl as she gazed down her muzzle at the military officers. Wayne glanced to the Representative and nodded curtly.

"I can understand your concerns Representative, but I would remind you that the situation on Tuchanka stems from the political decisions made by the Administration to attempt to integrate the Krogan into the Alliance's political system. A goal which has been repeatedly identified as being impossible by Alliance, and Citadel sociologists."

"Perhaps General Taylor can illuminate the Committee on the matters more thoroughly. Many of us are not as intimately familiar with the Tuchanka situation as our Military leadership is. General?" Represnetative Nuchav said, a softer tone to his voice than the firm statement by Representative Yagrach. For the life of him, General Wayne had never been able to shift the almost stereotypical impression he had of Vargr and their resemblance to Earth Wolves…and the coloring of their personalities that came so easily. Perhaps it was just the ones who chose politics for a career…but then _that_ stereotype crossed species lines.

"Of course Representatives. As you well know, the resolution of the Contact War between the Turian Hierarchy and the Systems Alliance resulted in a negotiated settlement for peace, along with a resolution of Territorial boundaries. One of those worlds was Tuchanka, originally under military isolation by the Citadel due to the result of the Krogan Rebellions and the use of the Genophage against the species as a means of controlling them. The Citadel occupation had been maintained from orbit and mostly resembled an embargo of any significant military hardware…the most notable limitation was the restriction of Krogan construction of naval vessels. Other than that the Krogan were left to their own devices. Steady population decline and a fragmented tribal nature of the Krogan means that the world was limited to a level a few steps above anarchy. Tribal warlords controlled what small swathes of terrain they can. According to our intelligence and the Citadel's records at the time of annexation by the Alliance in 2158 there were over fifteen thousand separate clans spread out across the planet with a population of two billion spread across a surface approximately twice the size of terra, and approximately equal to that of Muan Gwi." General Taylor said, reciting the particulars of Tuchanka from memory. Most members of High Command knew the particulars of the planet without having to check information slates or data files. The 'Tuchanka Situation' was the paramount concern of almost every planner and officer in the upper echelons.

"We are well aware of those specifics General…" Representative Tanith snapped, but before she could continue she was interrupted by Representative Torok Valla vas Quib Quib, one of the junior representatives in the cabinet, and a recent apointee by the Parlaiment to 'placate' the ever vocal Quarian Lobby.

"Not all of us are Representative. I would remind you that some of us have not had the benefits of the total disclosure this Committee has enjoyed in the past. I am rather curious about just how the Military has gone about the occupation and pacification of Tuchanka…and where it has failed." Representative Valla said simply, and General Wayne saw the metaphorical olive branch in that statement as if it had been set up in neon lights. Representative Tanith had long been decidedly anti-military in general and firmly against the Military's and Administration's Tuchanka policy for years…but she had not had much in the way of resources to do anything about it other than make rather pointed references to the situation on the Krogan homeworld. The military was still extremely popular within the Systems Alliance, so Tanith's prejudice was limited to snide comments…for now.

"Of course, you are quite right Representative. Continue General Taylor." Tanith said, gazing down at the human general who nodded politely and continued.

"The original occupation plan was one of military garrisons remaining for the most part out of the way of the Krogan, only serving to assert a presence planet side. It was not nearly to the level of the Zeta Reticuli quarantine. The Army and Marine forces remained out of the Krogan's way…but unfortunately the clans sought to test themselves against the new warriors on the world. We attempted resoultion peacefully, but our diplomats were ignored. We attempted bribes. That did not work. So the Alliance Marine Forces decided to combat them on their own terms. Single combat, or massive military force. We met with limited success with that plan."

"Define limited success, General." Representative Valla asked.

"Initially we had significant gains, clans viewed Marine officers as clan leaders. Annihilated clans had their young and females placed in 'protective' care next to Marine bases. Unfortunately, in what might be considered an unprecedented move, the other Krogan Clans began to form alliances against our forces on planet. The Marine Garrisons and Army units on planet were insufficient to deal with the growing numbers of organized soldiers. Because of that…we saw reversals, and several Marine positions were overrun." General Taylor said, shifting slightly at the statement. He didn't like to bring up military defeats, but he knew that honesty was not a platitude to be mouthed in press conferences.

He wasn't a politician after all.

"Which is why there are currently five Battle Squadrons in orbit over Tuchanka enforcing a blockade with a total of almost ninety combat spacecraft, in addition to five full Sector Armies, and a complete Marine Corps present on the surface of Tuchanka. A total number of over six million troops and support personnel. Is that a correct number General Taylor?" Representative Tanith said sharply, her eyes dancing over her small display screen, then gazing at Taylor sharply.

"Yes, that is correct, currently our forces are carrying out occupation and pacification duties. The situation is tenuous, and at the moment we estimate the counter force involved to be in the range of fifty to seventy million Krogan with the potential of one billion aggressors." General Taylor replied coldly.

"Did you say _billion_ General?" Representative May'Nak'Vas chirped slightly nervously. The Vegan's eye hood shifted to look at the line of military officers and General Taylor's grave stare managed to give a clear response without having to use any words…but he spoke anyway, for the record.

"Yes Representative, I did. The majority of the Male Krogan population are warriors, and they are filled with a massive number of combat veterans, most with experience in the Krogan Rebellions against the Citadel, along with Biotic capable soldiers in large numbers. The Krogan are mainly armed with small arms and light weapons, giving our forces an advantage. Also, the Krogan war fighting methods are not geared for large scale warfare anymore given their population issues and inability to sustain attritional based warfare. Although…our forces in theater have been politely 'urged' to limit Krogan casualties due to the population decline affecting the Krogan."

"A Billion potential hostiles?" Representative May'Nak'Vas murmured, but loudly enough to be heard by the recorder in front of him.

"As I said Representative, those are the _potential_ hostiles. Given the Alliance Population, any invader would be facing almost Eighty Billion potential hostiles. But then again, those Eighty billion do not have the advantage of centuries of combat training…." General Taylor said with a slight shrug.

"A rather important point General. But onto the matter at hand. I summoned you all to this hearing to discuss the fact that The Tuchanka theater is about to make a request for an additional four sector armies to be moved to Tuchanka and for permission to consider the use of either Quarantine or Clean Sweep protocols. These issues are extremely grave ones General Taylor, and this Committee wishes to hear the reasons why we are going to commit either a fifth our military, over ten million combat troops…or consider the same heavy handed measures we utilized against the Reticulans…or worse, the kinds of measures utilized by the Citadel." Representative Tanith said darkly, and General Taylor's head snapped back slightly. Wayne glanced over at the officer and saw the shock on his face.

"All those issues have been classified as Top Secret, Representative. How did you become aware of them?"

"How did the lead chair in the House Armed Forces Committee learn of impending troop requests? It's my job General." Tanith said sharply, and General Taylor sighed slightly.

"Alright Madame Representative. It is true that the Tuchanka theater has been contemplating a request for reinforcements…but your numbers are incorrect, it's not Ten million combat soldiers in total…the number we are considering vital is in the range of twenty five to thirty million ground troops for a complete occupation of Tuchanka and a proper counter insurgency campaign." General Taylor said, and even General Wayne gaped at that admission.

"General, that is a quarter to a third of our military's regular combat forces. All of it dedicated to operations on _one_ system." Representative Valla said.

"I am well aware of that Representative. But the military is fulfilling the decisions of the civilian leadership. The intentions of this administration and of your predecessors was to 'civilize' the Krogan for lack of a better term. The military is working to carry out that objective." General Taylor replied.

"Taking a third of our combat forces would degrade our military's ability to respond to the threats posed by the Citadel. Or to respond to potential threats from the Geth or Batarians." Representative Tanith said, her eyes boring in on General Taylor.

"I am well aware of that Representative, but you will remember, that the Regular Army and Marines are one portion of our ground forces triad."

"The Reserves and Militia, but I do believe they are not intended as primary combat forces, correct?" Representative Yagrach said.

"Correct Representative. The Regular Army boasts seventy five million under arms, the Marines have an additional five million. The Reserves currently stand at a ninety million spread over combat and support roles. The Militia forces are a strictly planetary asset, but they are currently estimated to be two hundred million strong…standards and training vary wildly beyond the bare minimum established by Arcturus." Colonel Mayborne supplied professionally before Generals Taylor or Wayne could respond. Personnel issues were his forte and that was the main reason he'd been called to the meeting.

"Yes, and I take it that the Regular army and Marines are the only troops we can deploy without serious measures being taken?" Representative Valla asked.

"That is correct. The Reserves and Militia can only be called up and moved off world during time of declared war. The legal issues are slightly complicated for the Militia, and the Reserves are primarily a garrison force, trained and equipped for defense of our worlds, not offensives against enemy systems." Mayborne said.

"Paltry numbers to be honest." Muttered Representative Ki'prak said, her voice haughty and sounding rather bored with the meeting as most Drow did when they had to take part in the democratic process.

"Paltry Representative? Two hundred and seventy million soldiers? That sounds like an armed camp to me. We have more soldiers than the entire Quarian species." Representative Valla said, his voice displaying his shock. Even with the population 'boom' going on, Quarians were a miniscule population among the races of the Alliance.

"Yes, rather paltry. Considering our population is currently ninety billion according to the Census. It's less than one percent of our population under arms, about a third of a percent of our population. Nothing compared to the Turian rate of having almost ninety percent of it's populace under arms and subject to call up. That's an army of tens of billions of beings. Saying that our forces are against potentially one billion Krogan isn't something we should be worried about. I worry about the The Citadel more than I worry about the Krogan. Even fighting the Salarians would be a close to even match…we outnumber the Asari, but I think our Marines are the only ones who consider one on one to be practical against them. We can deal with the Krogan if need be. Can't we General?" Representative Ki'prak asked rhetorically.

"And that brings us to the other issue. Operation Clean Sweep. Would you state for this Committee just what Operation Clean Sweep is General Wayne?" Representative Tanith said, and for the first time, her voice held almost barely restrained glee. The officer sighed slightly and straightened in his chair imperceptibly.

"I will remind this committee that this operation is classified as Top Secret and considered Code Word material, discussion of it with any unapproved individuals is considered treason and punishable by the full weight of Alliance Law. Is that understood?" General Taylor said, and was rewarded with surprised and almost reluctant nods from the Representatives, except of course from Representative Tanith.

"Continue General, if you can be bothered." Tanith snapped, not at all pleased with the reversal of tone in the chamber. General Taylor smiled at that.

"Operation Clean Sweep was originally created for the Reticulan situation. It was the operational plan for elimination of the Reticulan population, in it's entirety."

"Genocide." Representative Tanith said softly, the weight of the word speaking volumes.

"Xenocide is the technical term Representative, but yes. Operation Clean Sweep was adapted for the Krogan and the options were made for personnel level to system destruction." General Taylor said calmly.

"I'm rather shocked at that General. Xenocide is against the very tenets of the Alliance. The Constitution forbids punishing or holding accountable any being for the actions of our forbears or species as a whole. If you eliminate an entire species for the actions of a few, we're no better than the Citadel." Representative Tanith scoffed from her seat, and received the nods of several other members of the Committee.

"We only carry out the instructions that we are given representative. And we were instructed to formulate all possible responses to the Krogan situation. From leaving Tuchanka to destroying it, and everything in between." General Taylor replied.

"So far, your possibilities have resulted in either commitment of a substantial portion of our combat capable forces or xenocide. I do not think that the Parliament can condone either course of action." Representative Tanith said with a disdainful wave of her hand. General Wayne looked over to Taylor and noticed a slight twitch in the other officer's jaw. Taylor was not pleased, and for most politicians, it was hard to tell just how capable a career military officer could be when it came to hiding their emotions and keeping up a stony façade for others. Soldiers had to obey rules of behavior and decorum which politicians could never comprehend, let alone equal. But Tanith…she had always pushed hard against the military whenever she could, content in the belief that she had cowed them into submission with the strength of her position within the Parliament. But she had pushed to far and Wayne knew it.

"I'm not in a position to dictate policy Representative, but if you would care to note, the policies that have been put into place have been _followed_ by the Armed Forces, despite our objections to the concentration of our forces in one location. But we have obeyed, despite our reservations. The intention to commit third of our ground troops to Tuchanka has been a direct result of the policies of this Parliament and administration to restore order to the Krogan. A task which has been widely regarded as impossible through external influence. Even the Salarians who are responsible for the uplifting of the Krogan to Space level technology knew that in the end, the Krogan were not capable of interacting with the Galaxy in any way other than an adversarial one. The recommendation of the military has always been either an orbital quarantine or complete eradication. Civilizing and forcing order upon them has been a political calculation geared at handing the Citadel another political embarrassment, not a practical step aimed at improving their situation." General Taylor said sharply and concisely, too fast and to loudly for Representative Tanith to break into his statement and try to twist his words. It was striking enough a change from the usually accepting and polite response that military officers usually had for the Committee.

At the end, even Representative Tanith couldn't say anything but glare down at General Taylor, hatred etched on her face.

"I believe that we're through here, thank you for your time officers." Representative Yagrach said, polite, but just as shocked at having the unpleasant facts of the situation thrown back in her face as every other member of the Committee.

* * *

><p><strong>July 5<strong>**th**** 2171, Neo Muscova Colony**

Some fighting competitions aren't holovised. Some aren't even spoken of in polite company. These are places where the lives of sentient beings are worth only the entertainment their deaths can provide. Life is cheap, and defeat brings death. Victory means treasure, and fame in a circle where notoriety is a rare commodity. For most, finding a place like this was something that you could never do, but for a Council Spectre it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Which was why Nihlus found himself standing in a warehouse on an Alliance colony world, looking at an improvised ring made up of four pieces of tape on the floor. The Turian Spectre stood silently among the crowd made up of assorted Alliance species with several other Turians and even Krogan thrown in, all of them braying for blood to be shed by the two combatants. One was a Turian, his clan markings smeared by blood from their originally crisp and sharp lines. He was bare to the waist and was bleeding torrents of purple gore from his body, most prominently a single gouged eye. He was a determined fighter, and despite the fact that he had been brutally thrashed for ten minutes, he was still standing, and still willing to fight.

His opponent wasn't the kind of man to turn away from this fight, and the purple blood that smeared his bare fists and torso was mixed with a measure of his own red blood, bright crimson over the intricate swirls of golden and silvery body ink that covered his dark ebony skin from head to toe. His teeth shone brightly from his almost feral grin that had not moved from his features since the start of the fight. It was hard to mistake him for anything else, and Kezbana was the reason that Nihlus had walked into this den of bloodlust willingly, and without trying to kill any of the spectators who were betting on which of the two was going to be brutally beaten to death for their amusement. The Spectre had seen similar bloodsports in the Terminus Systems, even similar fights undertaken back during his time in the Turian Military. But those battles were fought to incapacitation or even to a certain number of 'valid' blows.

The disgust beneath the shadows of his cloak was readily apparent, but most of the spectators were to busy screaming for blood to worry about one of their number simply watching the beating. Nihlus had experience with physical brutality, and he was an expert in utilizing it to neutralize a threat, or to provide incentive for honesty, but this kind of thing was not his forte. This was brutality for entertainment, and as much as he could respect the capabilities of the two fighters inside the ring, it was clear that much of what they did was flourishing performance layered on top of lethal maneuvers. As he watched the dark skinned Drow move in close, and kicked at the Turian's front leg. The fighter was savvy enough to dart back and to the side, but it was clear that he'd been baited to move into a particular position. The follow up was an almost theatrical move by the Drow, a spinning punch as the momentum of his kick carried him completely in a circle. The back of his fist connected with the side of the Turian's face and staggered him.

It was then that Nihlus knew the fight was over. The Drow grabbed the Turian's right mandible and ripped it off of his face, tossing the bleeding appendage to the ground before grabbing the Turian's left arm. Forced into a half crouch from the pain, the Turian fighter couldn't move as the Drow grabbed his arm, planted his foot on the other fighter's hip and yanked hard, overextending the fighters arm and popping all of his arm's joints out. A bestial screech came from the wounded Turian's mouth, and before he could move, the Drow brought his fist hard against his opponent's upper bicep. The crack was audible and the Turian fell to the concrete floor. With one accomplished move of elegant brutality Kezbana brought his boot down hard on the Turian's neck and a final snap cut the air, drowned out by the screaming approval and disapproval of the crowd of gamblers and watchers. The fighter raised his fists in triumph as the Turian lay dead behind him.

Nihlus shook his head subtly, but did not move. As much as he hated the fact, shooting the man he was here to meet dead would not bode well for his mission. A part of the Turian regretted the fact that he couldn't eliminate the murderous alien from existence, but killing the Drow wouldn't get him the information he needed, and it certainly wouldn't bring him closer to his objective of finding out the mystery of Cerberus. The Spectre moved from the crowd and away from them as Kezbana held his fists high and let out a call of triumph. He moved through the large shipping containers that filled the warehouse and back to the shipping office that had been converted into the 'champions' room. The guard at the door had slipped off to watch the fight and the Spectre slipped open the door to the office. He settled into the office supervisor's chair and casually read the label on the bottle of vodka sitting on the table. He traced a talon idly over the frost gathering on the icy bottle.

As the door cracked open, Nihlus slowly looked up into the face of the Drow Assassin he had sought on this Alliance world. He didn't expect to find himself face to face with a being that looked like some kind of…something…

Up close, Nihlus had expected to have a feeling of unease. A sense that this was someone who probably should never be trifled with. But looking into the Drow's sleepy eyes, Nihlus had the feeling that this was someone who much preferred lounging about doing nothing in the company of gorgeous women and copious amounts of alcohol, rather than a cold hearted killed. The whirling loops and swirls of gold-silver-bronze shimmer ink tattooed across every inch of his skin in elaborate designs that seemed to mimic the complexity of human finger prints merely added to the beach bum feel of him. Nihlus had the rather sudden thought that this couldn't be an assassin…but dismissed it as quickly as it came. The best assassins were the ones you would never have thought were killers, much like what one described after they found out their neighbor was a serial killer…'you'd never have thought that about him!'.

"So tell me, are you one of my loving fans? Or are you related to the dude I just killed?" Kezbana said, and chuckled slightly as he closed the door behind him.

"No Kezbana, I'm neither." Nihlus said and set the bottle of vodka back into the chiller unit.

"Shame dude, quite a shame." Kezbana replied and smiled broadly, his white teeth shining. Nihlus sized up the Drow and noticed the slow and smooth motions, the coiled muscle and despite the sleepy veneer…a pair of eyes who were taking in him just as thoroughly as he was taking in the Drow.

"I don't usually discuss matters with Assassins, especially freelance ones." Nihlus said. Kezbana reclined onto the worn couch in the room and smiled, but this was not a laid back or relaxed smile, this was a predatory and dangerous one. The kind that would make people take a step back with a sudden intake of breath, the kind that most people would never see twice. Kezbana smile savagely as he laid back, propping one boot up on top of the other, Turian blood dripping from it slowly.

"You are well informed. Yes, assassin, killer, infiltrator, pirate, you can call me any of those things and be accurate, I prefer to be a lovable drunk, but we can never really have what we want in life now can we?" Kezbana asked, that savage grin not subsiding in the least as Nihlus cocked his head slightly. The Turian could appreciate the gaze of a killer and he knew just what the assassin was trying to do…intimidate him, but Nihlus wasn't the kind who flinched away from a threat, or a challenge. The Spectre knew that he had a job to do, but the temptation to demonstrate his own prowess was rising in him. Rising enough that he almost took the bait that Kezbana was trying to dangle.

"No, we can't. But I know your sordid past rather well, and I have a few questions for you, Assassin." Nihlus said, his tone about as involved as if he had been asking for the price of some vegetables in a crowded market.

"And what would those be, Turian? Do you know I'm not a fan of Turians? Well, you should, you saw just now after all…" Kezbana chided viciously, and Nihlus cocked his head to the side.

"Oh, I'm not just a Turian Kezbana, I'm also a Spectre, and I have a few questions for you…as a Spectre. I would prefer you answer them willingly so I don't have to compel you to answer them." Nihlus said, and the words had as much chill to them as the bottle of vodka slowly gathering frost on the table top did. Kezbana's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, the savage expression was gone, and there was a more even glint to his eyes. Nihlus saw the look on his face shift from disdain amusement to a slightly wry respect. The long ponytail of black hair that had been adhered to his back dangled over his shoulder, and Nihlus noticed the long string of cut stone 'bands' that held it in place. There were hundreds on it, and Nihlus had heard the rumors that the Drow Assassin kept each one as a memento for a professional kill.

"Alright, then what is it you want to know? I don't do jobs in Citadel Space…well…perhaps I should say, I don't do jobs against people Spectres care about in Citadel Space. So why talk to me Spectre? I haven't gone out of my way to do anything that would piss off the council, and I frankly don't need that kind of a headache, at least the Alliance has the damn rule of law…" Kezbana muttered and rolled his eyes.

"Information, on a job that you were approached to do." Nihlus said, leaning back into his chair and checking his Omni-tool idly.

"What job?" Kezbana asked bluntly, and Nihlus looked at the Drow suspiciously over his holo display screen.

"Why so open?"

"I never cared about the fraternity of silence, or any of that convoluted 'criminals with honor' bullshit. I'm a killer, I'm paid well for it when I do it, if I get paid very well, I don't talk about it. But if someone goes out of his way to find me and politely asks me what the fuck went on, I'll probably tell him, since I get the vibe that you're not here to take me in. Of course, you couldn't do that if you wanted to because being a Council Spectre in Alliance Space is more detrimental to one's health than being a paid assassin." Kezbana said, and his hand reached out, taking the vodka off the desk. In one motion he cracked the top off and held it to his lips, drinking in the clear fluid deeply before relaxing back onto the couch, bottle still in hand.

"Drowess Mila'tranks. Leader of the Drow Federation. You were approached to kill her, by Cerberus, why?" Nihlus asked, and Kezbana slowly nodded his head.

"Ah yes…not exactly a fun job I thought."

"Tell me what they wanted." Nihlus asked.

"Oh, they wanted her dead, very dead. Done publicly, done messily, and done so that everyone knew Cerberus had carried out the attack. Having a Drow male do the job would have just been a bonus for them." Kezbana said with a chuckle.

"Why?"

"Why killing her for a human supremacist group or why was I a bonus? Be specific with your questions here dude." Kezbana said, his demeanor drifting from threatening predator back to the laid back beach bum who'd opened the door.

"First one then the other."

"You know what Drow history is like?" Kezbana asked and Nihlus shook his head slightly.

"Oh, it's got it's wars, and opression, and conflict, and hope and dreams and triumph, just like all the lovely holovids and histories say it does, just like every other species. But for Drow…it's the females oppressing the males. But most species have gender equality nowadays. No segregation, no discrimination, no predjudice. Everybody's equal, everybody is respectful, everybody loves everyone else, koombay-fuckin'-ya and all that jazz. Drow, we don't have that." Kezbana said and took another long pull of his bottle. Nihlus didn't speak, but noticed that the Drow could drink a lot…very fast.

"Even today, men are second class citizens. You probably heard that big deal with the Supreme Court ruling a while back? That the Drow wouldn't face sanctions because the discrimination was social and not institutionalized? Nice little bit of politicking. There's rumors going around, big time rumors going around that the Drow were allowed to maintain a state close to segregation for males in return for staying in the Alliance. All very hush-hush, but I can understand why, the Alliance has gotta keep 'em in the Alliance, they can't look weak in front of the Citadel. Lots of saving face and looking good, but male Drow? We lost whatever hope for progress we could find, and things are getting messy over it. Lots of male emigrants are leaving Drow space, lots of 'em are agitating for equal rights in the Federation. Riots, violence, protests, that kind of thing. Nobody hears about it, but if a Drow Male assassin were to kill the chief executive of the Federation in a very public and very brutal way, the gender issue would explode on both sides. It would turn into a Gender War, and it would be bloody." Kezbana said, his eyes staring off slightly as if he could see the violence in the distance, moving slowly closer without any way to halt it.

"What about Cerberus, why would they want that?" Nihlus asked, prodding the Drow for more information. After a shake of his head Kezbana returned to the hear and now, and after another long drag of vodka, started speaking again.

"Near as I can tell, Cerberus would love that, another 'savage xenos culture' turning on itself and forcing the Alliance to save it. Gives them more examples of how humans would be better off. Makes aliens look like a risk, makes them look right. There were a couple of Cerberus releases about how the Drow were Gender supremacists and were treating males as slaves in an example of their 'barbarism'. They were setting it up, and if I'd have taken the job it would have happened. But I refused and that was that. It's hard to find a good _male_ Drow assassin, kinda like trying to find a good plumber." Kezbana said with a chuckle.

"Why didn't you take it?"

"Twenty Billion reasons. I might be a lecherous, drunken, brutal killer, but I know my ears." Kezbana said and stroked the long elfin ears. He shook his head grimly and sighed.

"I'm a Drow, and I know how bloody a Gender War would be. I'm no Masculinist or some kind of 'men's rights' fanatic, but I am not going to be the instrument of a supremacist groups plans to shatter my society so they can have their pure human empire. I actually like the Alliance, they're alright and better than most even if they are so obsessed with looking better than the Citadel that it causes them to forget about the important issues like Cerberus. Someone needs to destroy them." Kezbana grumbled softly.

"Who contacted you?"

"Why would I tell you that?" Kezbana replied and Nihlus cocked his head to the side.

"I thought you didn't give a damn about any 'code of silence'." Nihlus said with a smirk.

"No, not really, but if you want to know who they are, then you're going to be trying to find them, aren't you?" Kezbana said, his voice serious.

"Yes, someone is supporting them, and it's not the Alliance. I think it's a Spectre." Nihlus said, the truth coming out before he could find the foundation of a lie. He hadn't offered that tidbit of information to anyone he'd contacted, but sometimes honesty was the best weapon in his arsenal.

"I want to come with you." Kezbana said evenly.

"Why would I want a drunk, lazy, beach bum with me when I'm hunting down what might be a rogue Spectre?" Nihlus asked, and leaned forward, chuckling at the scent of Vodka, and the sleepy motions of the Drow in front of him.

It was a mistake.

The motion was so fast that he didn't even see it. Drow manual dexterity was one thing, but the raw speed that Kezbana had was phenomenal. If Nihlus had the chance to look and see it slowed down, he would have been impressed with Kezbana's grace. His right hand dropped the bottle of vodka and seemed to stroke his belt softly, but instead of coming away with bare fingers, he brought up a small blade that looped over two fingers and had a cutting edge barely the length of his pinky. It was a small weapon, but held against the Spectre's left eye, it was enough. Nihlus couldn't pull away reflexively either, because Kezbana's left hand was grasping his throat so firmly that the Turian was well aware that if the Assassin wished…he could crush his windpipe. The bottle of vodka fell onto the stained carpet at the end of the maneuver, falling onto it's side…empty.

"Because I am a drunk, lazy, beach bum, but I'm one of the deadliest Assassins in space. You made enough mistakes Spectre, and I think I did you enough favors in not killing you during our conversation that you owe me this nice…little…favor." Kezbana replied and smiled that savage smile. Inches from his face, Nihlus forced himself not to flinch, but he could feel that aura of danger that he had discounted at the first appearance of this assassin radiate from him like heat. Nihlus returned the gaze cooly and nodded.

"Alright, you're useful enough." He said finally, and Kezbana released his grip, dropping his hand to his belt and making the small close combat blade vanish so quickly it might have never been in his hand at all.

"Great to hear dude. I'll get my stuff and meet you at your landing pad, don't worry, I'll bring the information you want." Kezbana said with his easygoing smile, standing up and chuckling for a moment before leaving the office. Nihlus waited until he was gone before reaching his talons up and stroking his throat, feeling the bruises to his flesh…and his ego in one motion.

* * *

><p><strong>July 7<strong>**th**** 2171, Hong Kong, Earth**

"So tell me this again, please." The man said softly. He sat behind the desk…but it wasn't his. The pictures on the walls and the holos showed faces that weren't related to him, a smiling family that wasn't his. The name on the front door was for the Special Agent in Charge of the Hong Kong office of the Security Service…but the man sitting behind his desk, wearing a dark suit and mirrored shooting glasses was not him. Trieu Chu Banh didn't know who the man was, but his eyes had taken in much of the man's story without even opening his mouth. A shaved head, pale skin that was covered in scars, a left arm that was to perfect, clearly a prosthetic. Immaculately dressed, wearing clothing that was far in excess of anything an average agent could afford, and extremely well armed…plus he never took off his silvery mirrored shooting glasses. He'd offered no name, given no identification, but Trieu hadn't had much room to protest or refuse to discuss things with the mysterious man, he'd merely obeyed when his SAC had said he would be sitting down to discuss the recent appearance of a Council Spectre in Hong Kong.

"I've already explained it sir, in person to three different agents, and in two written reports. What can you learn that I haven't already told you?" Trieu said with a theatrical sigh as the man behind the desk merely smiled, and looked off at one of the pictures on the wall. His fingers drummed slightly on the desk top and it was clear that he wasn't here for an explanation of the meeting that had occurred seven months ago.

"Just tell me again what the Spectre wanted. I'm rather curious about it Agent." The man said, his fingers still drumming softly.

"She appeared, told me a few things about the Geth, the Batarians and how our networks were hacked, then pointed me towards finding out why the Council is interested in Cerberus. That's all, and the more in depth information is in my reports." Banh said, rubbing his eyes. Even though the meeting hadn't been in an official 'interrogation' room, Banh knew that he was being investigated for something by this man. One doesn't just have a sit down chat in the SAC's office for no apparent reason.

"Had she spoken to anyone else about this? Contacted any other agents about this?" The man asked, and Banh shook his head.

"No sir. Not to my knowledge." He replied tiredly. Even after several hours of going over the same thing again and again, the man on the other side of the desk didn't seem exhausted by any of it. Instead he just smiled slightly, twisting his scarred face into something close to cheerful and nodded.

"Well, thank you Agent Banh it's been a pleasure talking to you. You can head home now, I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time talking about something seven months old." The man said with a smile and stood up, smoothing the lines on his suit slightly and gesturing to the door. Banh nodded and left, the SAC stand outside the door, trying to listen in would have been impossible due to the seals on the door. But the SAC was standing there waiting for him, the individual in the room didn't follow along, instead the door slid shut and left Banh and the SAC standing in the anteroom to his office, secretary missing.

"Sir…who is that?" Banh said looking over his shoulder at the sealed door, then back to his superior, who merely greeted his questioning look with a steely gaze.

"You do not need to know, Agent Banh. This meeting didn't happen. Clear?" The SAC said grimly. Banh startled at the firm words, but the SAC softened and nodded for him to follow. As they walked down the hallway outside the office they passed the cubicled work areas of the agents and officers behind armorplas windows, still a hive of activity and unaware of the unorthodox meeting that had transpired in their supervisor's office. Behind the windows it was a noisy mixture of activity, but the hallway was silent.

"Banh, you've managed to get quite a prominent place in intelligence circles."

"How so sir?" The young Vietnamese agent asked, looking at the Senior Agent as he walked along.

"Being contacted by Graddik as an 'unofficial' channel to discuss issues was a major point in your favor. Along with that you've been contacted by a Council Spectre who wasn't operating under Citadel orders. It's big and it's the kind of thing that gets you noticed son. That's why you're being moved to Headquarters in Moscow, congratulations." The SAC said with a smile.

"I'm…honored sir. Thank you." Banh said, shocked at that development. The young agent smiled and nodded as he was lead off by the SAC, unnoticed was the man leaving the building. He stepped out onto the Hong Kong streets, black leather duster and fedora making him eye catching, but just a slightly unusual businessman as he walked along, comlink in his ear softly speaking to him as he walked along.

"The kid's clean, he got picked because he was young and inexperienced." Mintara Olnyx said as he walked, his eyes drifting over the street from behind his shooting glasses, his hands loose at his sides. He felt calm, and the conversation he was having wasn't unexpected.

"He was top of his class Min. One of the best his instructors had ever seen." The voice in his ear said, her voice softly annoyed at her partner's dismissive statement.

"Yeah, that makes me worry about the Security Service's Academy." Min said with an ironic chuckle.

"Min, times have changed somewhat." The feminine voice said.

"Koto, I gotta be honest, you know? He's got a transfer, Graddik will feed intel to another agent who's gonna be very well groomed for the contact and an expert in counter intel, not some kid whose graduation diploma is still damp. The Citadel was feeding us too much bad data." Min said, turning and walking through a marketplace whose general selling style seemed unchanged for the past four hundred years, meats vegetables and other foodstuffs hung in open stalls as vendors hawked and called out their wares. As Mintara walked he varied his pace, stopped and browsed, even haggled with one of the vendors over the price of oranges before making a show of walking off. All of them tried and true ways to lose a trail. Mintara was a veteran of the Security Service…an excellent history considering his current line of work.

"Fine, but you know that this complicates things. What do you think about the Tela Vasir incident?" Koto asked between haggling, accepting the fact that her conversation was taking second seat to the plumpness and firmness of oranges.

"Kid was playing it straight. He's too young and inexperienced to lie or tell a fib." Mintara said leaving the market and heading through the environs of Hong Kong.

"You think someone would lie? A professional officer in the Security Service?" Koto asked, disbelief infused through her voice.

"Yeah, who'd tell the truth if some Spectre appears, makes a cryptic comment and admits she's working freelance? I'd get accused of having a few to many shots, and probably suspended. But the kid was earnest. He called it as he saw it."

"So why did you want to speak to him in person?" Koto asked.

"Hey, you were there when I saw the file." Min said, sounding quite bemused.

"Yeah, but I've never managed to understand just how your mind works. It was a Security Service matter, not something for us to look into." Koto said.

"It's a special problem Koto, it's our kind of problem. Vasir pointed us in a direction, and I don't think she would do that unless there was a real reason for it. Cerberus, and someone who doesn't represent the Council. Who do we know that fits that bill?"

"There are plenty of crime syndicates that fit the bill, government stability tends to be good for business. Wars make it difficult to run drugs, guns, contraband and whatever else you might need on a lonely Saturday night." Koto replied, and over the comlink Mintara could hear the soft actions of a computer terminal as Koto checked her information.

"I don't think that Criminals would have the pull to get a Spectre working for them, do you? No one sane messes with the Spectres." Mintara said in response to the possibility his partner offered.

"What about an information broker? There's a big one in Citadel Space called the Shadow Broker, he provides intelligence to anyone who pays the right price. I wouldn't be too crazy for a Spectre to do a bit of tit for tat trading with them to get what they needed. I don't have any intel on Tela Vasir's operations to make a definite guess as to whither or not she might have climbed into bed with an information broker. But it makes as much sense as any." Koto said over the comlink, her shrug not visible to Mintara, but vivid in his mind's eye.

"We can work both angles, Shadow Broker and Cerberus. Track down either one and we will figure out just what they want us clued in on." Mintara said as he made his way towards the waterfront and the setting sun.

"Are you sure that we can do this on our own Mintara? We're good…but we're not that good, and sometimes you do need some help with the firefights…" Koto pointed out.

"I don't like to work with new people Koto, you know that." Min said with a growl at the end of his words.

"Yeah, but we're an Omega, and we have the right to get whoever we need."

"I don't like it." Mintara said firmly.

"I know Min…I know, but you think this is big, very big." Koto said and Min sighed angrily, and knew he'd made Koto smirk in satisfaction. She was right, he wouldn't have grabbed the situation and decided to address it if he hadn't thought the issue important.

"Alright, we'll see who we can get. Preferably some of the people we've worked with before. Calrathi, Taziz, Reekan and Milan. I trust them and I know what they are capable of. They're a good team." Mintara said finally.

"If you want to annihilate the free galaxy…" Koto said with a sigh.

"Why do you say that?" Mintara asked.

"You chose the religious nut job, the washout sniper, the insane mercenary and the gunrunner. The Gunrunner who just knows how very sexy he is." Koto grumbled.

"Hey now, be fair. Reekan is not a washout."

"He was thrown out of N7 training for lack of proper discipline and self control." Koto said.

"But he is one of the best investigative officers in the Security Service." Mintara replied brightly.

"Fine…fine…fine…yes, they do work well with you, and I suppose they're the only way I can get you to work with anyone else on this." Koto said.

"Probably." Min said with a smirk of his own.

"I'll see what I can do Min, but don't get cocky, you always want the bad situations, and you always find the bad situations. I suppose wanting to have as many guns as you can find on you side isn't the worst way of approaching things." Koto said with a sigh.

"Better living through superior firepower. I'll be back to the ship in an hour or so, then we can go find our lovely cohorts. See if you can't drum up a direction to head to locate the Shadow Broker or at least someone who might be so kind as to set us on the right track."

"That's not hard. Aria T'loak on Omega, place like that is one of those 'wretched hives of scum and villainy' that you love so much. They'll have Shadow Broker contacts there, without a doubt."

"An Omega on Omega? Lovely. Alright, we'll try it out, just so long as we don't have to go to the Citadel. I hate that place." Min grumbled.

"I know I know, to neat, to clean, to empty…and too willing to let any moron with body armor waltz around in heavy combat armor." Koto said in deadpan.

"Seriously…you'd think they'd make those guys wear regular clothing and not carry assault weapons…they're nuts." Min said.

"Goodbye Min. I'll get your pack of ner-do-wells and lunatics together for you."

"See you in a bit Koto. I'll bring you back something…lovely." Mintara said, his eyes locked on a skinned chicken hanging in a market stall.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: **

**Sorry for that delay folks! As many of you know, Tropical Storm Lee left a rather large amount of flooding in it's wake and that ate up much of my time helping my grandparents mop, pump and dry their flooded house, and plan for the complete renovation of their furnished basement. That on the wake of a trip out to Oregon to see my Girlfriend, a Hurricane that did a nasty bit of work on my property that needed to be straightened out, an intensive round of new job searching, and the three weeks worth of high humidity corroding my internet and cable line down to the point that I couldn't get online…posting an update was set to the back burner and rather difficult to manage.**

**So sorry for all that folks, I know you're all fans and I've been working in as much spare time as I could in the wake of all the hubub that's been going on in my normally placid corner of the world.**

**Onto the story.**

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><p><strong>University of Nos Astra, Ilium July 8<strong>**th**

"I find my theory on the quantitative uses of Dark Energy as an energy source to be quite substantial Professor Wst. If I might be so bold, I think you are far too arrogant to have such a derisive opinion about it." Matriarch Fuler said haughtily from her place at the front of the lecture hall. Her face was flushed slightly at the laughter coming from the Vegan standing across from her. His tendrils drumming on the podium he stood behind. The Asari Matriarch was not used to be spoken of in such a dismissive tone, and she was more than a little embarrassed by the blunt words coming from the Alliance Scientist who she had herself pushed hard to invite to Ilium for this presentation. It was supposed to be a presentation of her own theories about the possible uses of Dark Energy as an energy source rather than merely a way to manipulate space-time and allow for FTL flight. She gritted her teeth and attempted to stare down the Vegan four centuries her junior in front of a packed lecture hall filled with some of the brightest minds in Citadel Space.

"I'm sure that you do Matriarch. But we must have the flaws in our reasoning pointed out to us before we can learn." Professor Ben-Olk-Wst cooed soothingly from where he stood. The smug expression on his face was invisible to anyone looking at him, even if they were a Vegan. But his Eyehood gestured to the diagrams and holograms that hung in the air behind the pair of intellectuals. As he turned back he took in the crowd, many of them leaning forward as intently as patrons to a heavyweight prizefight would be when an unexpected blow sent one of the competitors reeling. It was spectacle of the most intellectual and the most visceral. Theories that were merely unproven speculation in Citadel Space were being debated…and a pair of indomitable personalities were clashing.

"Then what is the flaw professor, if you would be so kind as to tell me?" Matriarch Fuler asked with a slight sneer on her lips. Professor Wst looked up at the calculations for a few seconds, the displayed holograms bathing him in a blue green light as he examined them. With a gesture he pointed up to one of the elaborate calculations hanging in the air.

"Here, your expectation of matter to energy conversion gravely understates the drain placed upon the energy released that is being committed to a tangible and coherent current. The release of energy from Dark Matter is an extremely difficult process to quantify, and I commend your efforts, but the difficulty of harnessing the energy released by Dark Matter is insurmountable with your technological base. To this point, your leading scientists can theorize the existence of Dark Matter, and you can declare with great certainty that it exists, sadly, you do not have any way of measuring it. That is the first step towards harnessing it." Professor Wst said carefully. Normally willing to break into long explanations and discussions, he cut off his usual lecture. The extremely long discussion that the State Department and the Alliance Security Service had with him prior to this trip had driven home the fact that what was common knowledge to him fell into the realm of State Secrets. The Vegan knew that his visit to Nos Astra had nearly been denied on the basis that the secrets within his mind could leap the Citadel's Technology forward by untold leaps and bounds. But the Alliance couldn't deny one of it's Citizens the fundamental to their freedom of travel.

Reflexively, his eyehood glanced to the stern faced bodyguards provided by both the Security Service, and the more commonplace Illium Police who were subtly standing out of sight. Professor Wst was no fool, he knew that there were plenty of people in the Citadel who would want to peel his brain for it's secrets. Secrets to FTL travel, Dark Matter Power generation, Zero Point Energy, and countless other technologies that could only be guessed at by the Citadel. He was no pure science intellectual either, he knew that he was a Vegan, and that he was a patriotic citizen of the Alliance. But he was still an academic, so he couldn't pass up the opportunity to attend this lecture, even if it was an Asari university.

Vegan scientists had probed deeply into the secrets of Dark Matter working alongside Human researchers after first Contact. Vegan intellectual prowess had meshed with Human ingenuity to create fantastic technologies and scientific breakthroughs that were unrivaled in the galaxy. But coming here to see the debates and discussions about Dark Matter energy conversion was an opportunity he couldn't ignore. Professor Wst was the kind of Vegan who enjoyed watching the attempts of others, giving praise when appropriate, and correction when needed. He wasn't as smug or dismissive as Matriarch Fuler thought…rather, he was encouraging.

"Well Professor, we lack your rather advanced abilities, but we do know that Dark matter exists. The fact that it can be created by Biotics and is harnessed to utilize FTL technologies proves that we _can_ measure it." Matriarch Fuler snapped back, seizing on the Vegan's error as a way of fighting her way back to dignity. As she spoke, several of the assembled scientists applauded.

"You can measure Dark Matter and Dark Energy much the same way an offspring measures the strength of a breeze, or the warmth of the sun. They know the breeze is cooling, they know the sun is hot, but they know it merely by the feel of it on their skin. Does the offspring know that a breeze comes from a sandstorm boiling over the horizon? Can it tell that the sun burns with heat enough to consume the world it stands upon? No…it knows cold and hot. Wind and stillness. You may measure many things Matriarch, but you cannot understand the heat of the sun, or what that breeze may come from." Professor Wst said consolingly, turning the Matriarchs attempt to regain her pride into another embarrassment. Her face turned sour at the Vegans words and her teeth gritted fiercely as she heard laughter rise from the audience. She took a long moment to compose herself before speaking once more.

"Then enlighten us Professor. What will we see when we can study Dark Matter as easily as the Alliance can?" Matriarch Fuler asked, and was greeted by silence from Professor Wst. The Vegan raised his Tendrils to his eyehood and settled into the unmistakable pose of someone who wasn't searching for words to describe an astronomical phenomena or energy field. It was the posture of someone who sought to quantify something that could only be seen to be experienced. Just like blue and green and red could never be understood by the blind, it was a thing that fell into the void of being an 'experience' not just an act.

"The life and death of all things." Professor Wst said softly, finally looking at the Asari.

"Professor, by the Goddess, what are you talking about?" Matriarch Fuler asked, startled.

"It is…all around you, but not. It is here, and there, within and without. It is something that exists beyond your understanding. It does not give life on it's own, but it exists and affects all things. It can grant power beyond imagining and grant bounties beyond comprehension. It is not alive, but it is. Just as beneath your eyes exists atomic particles you cannot see or fathom…it too exists." Professor Wst said, his words backed with a far away look. Matriarch Fuler looked at him, and none of the spectators sought to speak or ask questions of the Vegan Professor standing there, his words describing something that many of them would never see. After the speculative silence drug on for several long moments, Professor Wst nodded his eyehood and looked at the chrono on his lapel.

"Gentlebeings, I greatly appreciate your invitation to come here today and speak, but sadly my time here is at an end. I would like to thank you Matriarch Fuler, and I would like to commend you on your research. I have not seen such groundbreaking work since my own explorations of Dark Matter two centuries ago. I commend you for your open-minded thinking and hope your research bears fruit in the future." Professor Wst said with a bow to the surprised Asari who hadn't expected the praise and encouragement. With a nod of his Eyehood he turned and left the stage, the assembled intellectuals rose and applauded with as much fervor as you'd expect from the awarding of a gold medal at the Olympics. Professor Wst beat a hasty retreat from the stage with a wave of his tendrils and disappeared down a side door.

"Professor, you cut the presentation slightly short." His assistant said softly from her place at the door. Professor Wst glanced over at her and nodded.

"Yes, I know I did Chiah but I couldn't help it, I enjoyed the invitation, but there is so much that I cannot tell them. You and I both know that. It was a mistake to agree to speak here…" Professor Wst said grimly to the young Drow Graduate student who he had selected to accompany him.

"But Professor, it's knowledge. Didn't a human say that to brighten the light of knowledge anywhere is to brighten it everywhere?" Chiah said, her violet eyes gazing at her professor with an almost accusatory air.

"I know Chiah, I know. But I'm also reminded that this isn't about the greater good of science. I applaud Matriarch Fuler's theorem and the strides that she is taking, but I can't speak much more on the subject without allowing the scientists in the Citadel to know more than they should." Professor Wst said.

"This Nationalistic sentiment is beneath you professor." Chiah said, and was greeted by a sigh from Wst.

"I know what my homeland is Chiah, and I think that you would do well to remember that if the roles were reversed and we were the technological inferiors, I doubt that the Citadel would be willing to lavish scientific knowledge upon us without making us earn the privilege…or making us pay for it."

"The Alliance has a history of making species pay for their benevolence…" Chiah sneered darkly, her dark skin flushing in rage.

"Calm yourself Chiah. The Drow have not suffered as much as you may think." Wst sighed, finding the prospect of a political argument taxing on his limited reserves of patience for anything beyond the realm of Quantum Physics and Dark Matter. The Vegan Academic looked down at the Drow female and shook his eyehood in a human gesture of sadness. He was met by violet eyes glaring up at him.

"Easy for you to say Professor. The Asari and the Citadel have as much right to know your theories as the Humans do. You can't deny them the knowledge."

"I know Chiah!" Professor Wst snapped back sharply, making his assistant blink in surprise. "I am well aware of the fact that I cannot deny them any scientific progress, no matter how detrimental it is to them. Just as they cannot deny it to us. But I will not hand them knowledge on a silver platter which they should by all rights earn for themselves. Dark Matter is an extremely powerful energy source, it revolutionized energy sciences in the Alliance. Visionaries like Matriarch Fuler have seen what we've done with that technology and seek to expand their own shallow understanding of it. But they must earn that knowledge. If it were within my power, and if I thought it truly right, I'd tell them everything that they wanted to know…but I don't believe that you can give such immense power to beings who have not earned it." Wst continued before letting silence engulf the group as they walked. They stepped from the side passage and out into the 'streets' surrounding the university. The massive towers of Ilium didn't leave much for contemporary urban architecture, instead heavily favoring walkways for pedestrians and air vehicles.

"Professor, our shuttle will be here momentarily." One of the Security Service 'minders' said quietly as they looked out at the mostly empty landing area that seemed to be populated only by Ilium Police and their party. Professor Wst nodded his eyehood to the 'minder' preferring that term to 'handler' or 'bodyguard'. To be honest, Wst wasn't sure just what the agents were present for, whether it was to protect him, or to make sure that he wasn't overcome with a sudden case of nobility and try to tell the Citadel everything it needed to know to leap it's energy technology ahead by countless centuries. Wst preferred not to think about the fact that if he had any thoughts of defection…he might not live to fulfill them.

"Professor, there's still time…" Chiah said suddenly, her body shifting slightly. The tone made Wst look down at her, wondering just what she was talking about.

"What do you mean Chiah?"

"Go back, tell Matriarch Fuler what you know. Give her the knowledge, let the Citadel know what the Alliance knows." Chiah said in undertone, looking up at him with an almost pleading expression on her face.

"Chiah, I can't do that."

"You must…otherwise…otherwise I'm sorry Professor…" Chiah said, seeing the shuttle moving in for a landing on the pad. Wst looked at her, then to the shuttle, shrugging his shoulders slightly and not bothering to answer his assistant's words. He was no soldier, nor did he possess any enhanced abilities or senses…but he saw the slight tensing of the two Security Service bodyguards as he looked up. Wst didn't make the connection, but he could sense something was amiss as the shuttle began to settle down on the pad slower than it should…with every eye focusing in on it. As Wst's main 'minder' stepped slightly forward, his hand raising up to the inside of his jacket, the first shot rang out.

Wherever the sniper was, he was well concealed…and very good. The minder's head exploded in gore from the mass effect round slicing through it at hypervelocity. His other minder dove towards him to try and get the Vegan Professor down onto the ground and out of the line of fire, but he couldn't block the almost perfect view Wst had of the firefight. The Ilium Police were raising weapons and crouching, but they were horribly exposed and all of them merely had on their duty fatigues, not combat armor. There had been no warnings of a threat against the Professor, merely the overzealous caution placed around any foreign VIP visiting their world. Now, these officers were being cut down in cold blood by snipers without even glimpsing who was trying to kill them…it was over in seconds.

As the shuttle landed, the minder began to rise off of him, hoping to sprint towards the vehicle and escape. But hope and daring had overcome caution and training. The mistake was all that the passengers within needed. A burst of rifle fire and the minder fell, shock etched on his face as Asari in Yellow painted combat armor made their way down the ramp, hustling towards the only two living beings still there…both of them covered in a mist of blood and brain matter. The mercenaries wasted no time with words or a dramatic monologue, instead they merely grabbed the Drow and the Vegan, dragging them up the ramp and into the shuttle, questions shouted at them were merely responded to with a harsh glare or jab of a rifle. In less than twenty seconds, the shuttle lifted off and shot away from Ilium University, leaving only questions and bodies in it's wake.

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><p><strong>Chyrse City, Mars, July 9<strong>**th**

The Chyrse Sea stretched down from the Great Northern Ocean almost to the equator of Mars. The seas weren't the deep blue that you could find in Hong Kong Harbor, instead the waters that gently lapped at the docks and coastlines of Mar's largest city were almost purple. The blue water mixing with the red under layers to create the effect. Even though Mars had been greening for almost fifty years, you could still find a legacy of the 'Red Planet' beneath the oceans that had formed after the melting of the Ice Cap and bombardment of hundreds of thousands of ice asteroids. You couldn't see red anymore north of the equatorial regions, other than the haze in the atmosphere that came from the dust storms in the southern hemisphere…the hills and planes beyond the city were green, seething with a genetically engineered ecosystem which would have been unheard of over a century ago. Even Chyrse City would have been unheard of. An open air city on the face of Mars, a marvel that Earth's oldest colony world could tout to the galaxy.

Not that Mintara was here for the technological wizardry of the terraforming engineers, or the cosmopolitan lifestyle of a thriving city surrounding him. Mintara was here for a man, and that was why he was leaning on the metal railings looking out across the waters of the Chyrse Sea as freighters and pleasure craft sailed out in the pale Martian sunshine. The thin cigar in his lips sending a curl of smoke into the air…and a showed a rather pointed disdain of the 'no smoking' sign mounted a few feet along the railing. Olnyx wasn't the kind of man to care about trivial things, something that had come hard to him a long time before. With a blink he checked the HUD on his shooting glasses for the time and then glanced back over his shoulder. With a smile he straightened up and looked at the figure walking across the plaza that seemed extremely out of place in Chyrse.

A towering figure clad in clothing that outwardly resembled attire centuries before. Black cowboy boots, denim jeans that wouldn't have been out of place on Terra a century before, a garish silver belt buckle that was inlaid with crimson Martian crystal rested on a black leather belt, much of it was somewhat standard for the Southern Martians on the 'frontier' living live in more rugged settlements far from the polar oceans and the great metropolises that flourished around them, growing genetically engineered crops and supplying the southern mining outposts with produce. Most Northern Martians didn't see anyone who was like the hard bitten figure striding across the Plaza except in the vids. In the south things were more rustic, were much drier, and was home to a hardier breed of Martian Colonist. The Southerners herded the large groups of gene-engineered grazing animals whose bodies could convert the hardy lichens and fungus that abounded in the rusty soil into something that could be consumed by Humans, Aslan, Vargr and Vegans. Northerners lived in the cities and lead lives that were much akin to those you'd find in New York, Sydney or Capetown. Two groups who were worlds apart living on the same red-green sphere.

While from his belt down, the figure might have said one thing, the high grade tactical vest covered with a calf length green duster coat that still bore more than a few traces of red dust said something completely different. The chromed revolver resting on one thigh and the gold shield dangling around his neck proclaimed him to be a lawman. An Alliance Marshal to be specific, one of the hardened few who had legal jurisdiction that spanned Alliance space…the kind of man who had holovids written about him…and he tended to dress the part. Even the large black cowboy hat that adorned his head seemed to be just over the top theatrical. As good as he was, and as dangerous as he was, the man who wore this rather archaic and outrageous outfit tended to view the theatrical as a powerful tool, controlling people's perceptions of you was a rather easy way to control what they thought and how they reacted to you. Mintara chuckled at the glances his companion was receiving, and reached out his hand as the rugged looking man approached. Vox Reekan smiled at his friend, his tanned skin crinkling at the broad grin, his silver eyes dancing with enjoyment at the sight of his old friend.

"Well Mintara, what brings a city-boy like you to Mars?" Vox asked warmly with his characteristic firm handshake. Mintara's grip tightened in response, and the former Security Service officer grinned slightly at the battling handshakes.

"Came here to pick up a Marshal Vox. I need your help." Mintara said his arm shaking slightly from his tensed muscles. Mintara's eyes dropped slightly to glance at the gold star hanging around Vox's neck. The Marshal chuckled but didn't look down to see the slight tremble, instead his gaze remained locked on Mintara's.

"Oh? How is that a surprise to me Mintara?" Vox said with a laugh and then pulled out of the handshake, his thumbs hooked into his belt and sweeping his duster slightly to let his chromed revolver glint in the pale red Martian sunlight.

"It shouldn't be, not usually. Did I pull you away from something Vox?" Mintara asked, finally commenting on his friend's attire, shield and weapon.

"Hopped a sub-orbital from one of the mining settlements. Red Sand smuggling ring operating as a jump off point for Earth. I'm starting to think that we just need to outlaw the Blue Suns, I've never met one of their units what's done anything legal. Just drug runners, slavers and pirates." Vox said, shaking his head as he walked alongside Mintara.

"Doing your lone-wolf deal again Vox?" Mintara chuckled.

"Well, I think N7 proved that I'm not cut out for teamwork with most people. I like being a free-agent so being a Marshal works out pretty well. But you didn't come here to chat, did you Min? What's this about?" Vox asked seriously, his bright eyes looking over to his friend.

"What do you know about Cerberus, Vox?" Mintara asked.

"It's a known terrorist organization. Very well supported and extremely well trained. They're very well motivated and equipped. A dangerous group of human supremacists, they've been responsible for a large number of terrorist attacks and atrocities against Citadel and Alliance citizens. I think their biggest was an antimatter weapon being used on Illium? They've been pretty quiet since then though…but I'm not sure. Why do you want to know?" Vox said, rattling off the information he was familiar with.

"There's been some movement on them. A Council Spectre left a message with a Security Service Agent in Hong Kong about them." Mintara said, garnering an instant response.

"A Spectre? IN Hong Kong?" Vox said in disbelief.

"Yes. Being very coy about who was giving her orders, but not about the fact that she wasn't taking her lead from the Council. The Ghost Taskforce has been trying to get a handle on who or what decided to have her drop us a hint. So far there hasn't been much progress." Mintara said seriously, but was disappointed at his friends laugh.

"The Ghost Taskforce? They're mostly just guessing about Spectres and what they're up to, they still argue about who's the number one Spectre in Citadel Space. And they think that Spectres are responsible for the technology thefts and smuggling that was epidemic a few years back." Vox said with a smirk before letting the ironic laughter subside, and a more serious expression to settle onto his face.

"You know different Vox?"

"No, but the fact is we don't know who was responsible, it's too easy to assume the Citadel was responsible, but they'd be rather stupid to be so overt, especially with our very strained diplomatic relations." Vox said.

"That's why I'm looking into things. The Citadel is investigating Cerberus, and I'm worried that someone is playing with the galactic powers. Times are tense Vox, and if Cerberus continues to cause problems, it could mean a war." Mintara said.

"Understandable. But why does an Omega need to get involved with this?" Vox said pointedly, but his voice was undertone enough that no one in the plaza would be able to overhear that little tidbit. Mintara glanced over at Vox then casually looked around the plaza, satisfied that there weren't any eavesdroppers floating nearby he spoke up.

"Because I'm the only one who has the chance to do it. The Security Service hasn't got the jurisdiction to deal with this issue, and the Intelligence Service isn't geared towards it. That's why I'm looking into it. The other units don't have as flexible mandate as I do." Mintara responded quietly.

"Alright Mintara, what's your plan?"

"Ever hear of the Shadow Broker?" Mintara replied, his hand dropping into a jacket pocket and returning with a small reader. Handing the device to Vox, the marshal unfolded the holo display and began reading as they walked. His eyes zipped across the screen, taking the 'Top Secret' header to the information in stride and instead going down the list of possible and probable bits of information.

"I'd heard rumors of an information dealer who had galactic reach, but this is…shocking." Vox said as his eyes darted across the glowing readout.

"And I have the nasty suspicion that the Shadow Broker is far larger. Hundreds of thousands of informants, countless recording devices, hackers and info slicing…the list goes on. From what most operatives in Citadel space and the Security Service say the Shadow Broker knows something about everyone in the Galaxy. It's a bit ludicrous, but I won't discount anything in Citadel Space. I believe that the Shadow Broker might be the interested party who has a pet Spectre." Mintara replied firmly as Vox handed back the reader.

"So you plan on walking around the Citadel trying to get an audience with the Shadow Broker? Because I don't think that plan will work without the Second Marine Division joining you for that jaunt." Vox said acidly.

"No, I believe that we will be dealing with a reasonable, rational, and understanding person. We won't need any dramatic moves or showmanship." Mintara said, his tone serious, but his scar crossed lip curled up in a gesture of the utmost sarcasm.

"Just like Lair, right?" Vox said with a sigh and a nod.

"Something like that. I need to get to the bottom of what the Broker knows. I don't like half hits that direct me towards doing someone else's work. If the Broker knows enough to have his pet Spectre dropping the Alliance Security Service hints, he knows enough to tell me more." Mintara said with a predatory growl to his words.

"So Cerberus is really second seat to this whole affair?" Vox asked.

"No, not entirely. I've called in a few favors…" Mintara began.

"…meaning you used your security clearance to set the hounds lose." Vox finished and was rewarded with an almost impish smile from his friend.

"Yes. Right now, the Security Service is pulling everything it has and running it to Koto and her pet AI. I've also got an old friend running things down from another end, remember Milan?" Mintara asked.

"Atvar Milan? You found him again?" Vox said, surprised at that little nugget of information.

"It wasn't that hard. Most Arms Dealers prefer to keep tabs on their better clients. I've asked him to look into weapons smuggling and cross check that with the information the Security Service drags up. An underworld eye directed on the matter should be enough to set us on the right track towards Cerberus."

"Why don't you have him look for the Shadow Broker connections as well? Might save us the trouble." Vox said, rolling his eyes.

"Come now, you want him to have all the fun. I'm sure you'll love Omega Vox. It's a spectacle of the galaxy."

"The last time you said I'd love something Min…I wound up staring down two angry Krogan with no rounds and a knife." Vox grumbled.

"You had fun though." Mintara grinned.

"You call Lair fun? That was a mess." Koto's voice called softly into Mintara's ear. He held up a hand and gestured to his ear, receiving a nod of understanding from Vox in reply.

"Well, it was in the end. What do you have for me Koto?" Mintara asked softly.

"Atvar has received the information, but he's made it pretty clear that delving into the black market in Citadel Space won't be an easy task. He doesn't do much business in the Citadel due to the 'difficulties' with customs and the ban on any kind of military or tech exports to the Citadel. Says there's too much risk of incurring the wrath of Spectres and the Security Service." Koto said.

"Okay, now that I've heard his spiel about being a law abiding and patriotic Alliance citizen…what does he know?" Mintara said tiredly and Koto giggled in his ear.

"He said you'd say that. Well, our dear arms dealer says that there are several routes that look promising. According to the SS info that he's had a chance to look at, he knows one of the dealers in Citadel Space who's handled a few shipments to Cerberus groups. He's going to go have a word with them, a 'professional' meeting as it were. But he can't make any promises." Koto said.

"Right. Vox and I are going to make an appointment with the Shadow Broker. See if we can't knock anything lose. Have you had any luck contacting Taziz or Calrathi?" Mintara asked.

"Yes, they have Min, both are willing to work with you if things are as nasty as you say they are."

"They are, without a doubt…they are…" Mintara said grimly.

"I know…Min, did you hear about the situation on Ilium?" Koto asked, and Mintara frowned.

"No, cut Vox in on this." Mintara ordered and he gestured to his ear as he glanced at Vox. The Marshal nodded and lifted his own com-earpiece up and settled it in place. With a nod, Koto resumed speaking.

"Yesterday, Professor Ben-Olk-Wst of Muan Gui University was abducted from outside of Nos Astra University. He'd been invited there to hear a presentation by Matriarch Fuler on Dark Matter Energy possibilities. Professor Wst was an expert on Dark Matter sciences and part of numerous Defense research projects." Koto said.

"Why the hell was he in Citadel Space?" Mintara asked sharply.

"He'd been invited specifically Min, a personal request. He was quite eager to attend from what his staff has said." "What kind of protection was he placed under?" Vox interjected professionally.

"Two protection agents from the Security Service due to Professor Wst's defense connections. Along with that, Ilium Police were in attendance providing a security detail at the 'request' of the State Department. Wst was a high profile individual, very prominent in academic circles." Koto said, her voice holding the tone of someone reading off information hovering before her. Vox nodded, and Min kept quiet.

"What's the status on the team?" Vox asked.

"All are KIA, they were ambushed by snipers, and it's believed that a dummy shuttle was used to decoy them and seize the Professor and his assistant."

"Believed? It's Ilium, that world is wired like a pinball machine. You couldn't find as many cameras in London as you can there." Vox said in disbelief.

"The cameras were jammed." Koto said after a few moments.

"This was an inside job, no question. We shouldn't have let him go into Citadel Space." Vox growled.

"Technically, Ilium is independent and not part of the Citadel administration." Mintara supplied, and received a sour look and an eye roll from his friend.

"Technically my ass…the Asari government, such as it is, pulls the strings. The Asari have a nasty habit of trying to use Ilium to run stolen Alliance Technology into Citadel Space." Vox shot back, and Mintara looked at him slightly taken aback by the fervor of his friend's words.

"Ilium's outside Citadel jurisdiction, that means they don't exactly have the Turians standing by to take a swing at the Alliance if we place some 'pressure' on them for answers…and I'm sure that the State Department is going to be going rabid over this." Mintara replied.

"Mintara, you don't run a snatch and grab on a professor unless you have something to gain. He's not rich, he's not famous, and he's probably only good for one thing. His knowledge." Vox said.

"That's what I thought." Koto's voice piped up over the twin comlinks. The two men had forgotten the third party in their little conversation.

"What else can you tell us that's interesting Koto?" Vox asked softly.

"His assistant was found to have anomalous bank information…but not in her accounts. The Security Service started tearing apart every aspect of her life about two minutes after they found out that Professor Wst was abducted. She was found to be a supporter of the 'Honored Federation' movement. It's a Drow separatist movement that's had some mixed messages, sometimes calling calmly and politely for Drow independence, other times attempting terror attacks. They're pretty small compared to the Vargr and Aslan independence groups…but they're just one of numerous groups."

"So you're saying that the money passed through her account and into this Drow group's financing? Lovely." Vox growled and Mintara merely nodded.

"Someone paid her off…probably to slip them information on Wst. The Security Service is looking into her life and contacts. They don't think they're going to find anything that they'll like." Koto said finally.

"So…an Alliance genius gets kidnapped, and her assistant, who's a Drow Separatist sympathizer gets a payday for her organization…one whose goals weaken the Alliance." Vox said in monotone, he sounded tired at the very thought of it.

"No chance to back out now Vox." Mintara said with a smirk, his scarred face making the expression look almost diabolical.

"How is this our mess? We already have a mess that we've got to deal with, one that involves a human supremacist group, a galaxy wide spy network, a bought Spectre, and a war that could engulf the galaxy if we don't find out what's going on…and mind you, we don't even know what we're going to do once we start locating things." Vox said rattling off the particulars of what they were going to deal with.

"Sounds about right." Mintara said with a smile that hid his own apprehension with the seemingly rapidly escalating scale of what they were up against. The Omega Agent didn't relish the challenge that he was facing, but he knew that whatever happened, he couldn't turn away.

* * *

><p><strong>The Citadel, Zakera Ward, July 10<strong>**th**

The slow rotation of the Citadel made for many dawns and dusks throughout the chronological day. It was something that the residents of the Wards had long since acclimated themselves too. Visitors to the Wards normally had a difficult time dealing with the fluctuations to their biological clocks, Atvar Milan was not one who suffered from that kind of travel issue when he visited the Citadel. He avoided the complication by spending much of his time indoors and out of the glow from the Serpent Nebula. Atvar was never a tourist, and certainly not when he visited the Citadel, or the lair of Hellzac, a Salarian Crime lord who he dealt with regularly.

Milan didn't usually meet with contacts or business associates in person, nor did he venture into Citadel space to do so. There were far too many risks involved with meeting in Citadel space, Milan knew the risks better than most citizens in the Alliance, but the propaganda that was common place wasn't far off the mark. Protections from unlawful searches and seizures, protections from 'coercive' interrogation and other rights taken for granted in the Alliance were non-existent. It made criminal endeavors difficult to carry out, even businesses like Milan's. The arms trade was more persecuted in the Alliance than in the Citadel, but Milan knew that some 'idealist' might get an uncontrollable urge to prosecute someone for running high tech weapons into Citadel Space.

This time, his visit to meet with Hellzac was not business but 'personal', and Atvar was willing to take the risk of visiting the Citadel to meet with Hellzac on his terms. Which was why the Arms dealer was stepping from the back of a Mercedes sedan outside the Salarian's favorite 'place of business' a gentle being's club in Zakera Ward. Milan had been here before and knew that Hellzac was unusual enough for his species that he enjoyed being surrounded by gorgeous females wearing next to nothing…and that he knew most of his business partners were easily distracted males. Illuminated by the glowing neon letters of the sign, the arms dealer took a deep breath and straightened his back.

Milan was a striking man to look upon. His handsome face was wreathed in bright crimson hair that ran between his shoulder blades. His green eyes always seemed to be probing and seeking answers and information from anyone he looked at. He was tall and thin, though deceptively strong beneath the tailored suits he wore on business meetings like this one. Put together, he was the kind of smiling being who you would never think ran a large criminal organization that dealt in death…in fact, he looked more like a pop-star or holo-vid actor that women lusted after. Flanked on either side by bodyguards, it would have been easy to visualize him as a politician, his smiling face lulling constituents into a false sense of security.

As Milan stepped from the Mercedes and walked towards the garishly lit front of the club, the vehicle lifted off and sped away. It had not dropped off any bodyguards, and Milan carried no weapons. The gesture was one to placate Hellzac and show him the confidence he had in his business associate's security. A pair of Turian bodyguards stepped forward and made way for Milan as the human strode through the entrance. As he entered he was greeted by a woman who looked to have been lured away from a promising lingerie modeling career. She wore a smile, and next to nothing else as she bowed to Atvar.

"Mr. Milan, please follow me." She said with a warm smile that seemed to beckon his more carnal desires. Milan ignored the promise the woman's smile held, and instead nodded curtly to her. She turned and walked through the club, his eyes taking in the rich velvet walls and black leather furniture that was arrayed about. There were attendants walking around, many of them scantily dressed, most of them Asari, but a surprising number of Human and Aslan women as well. Most of the males in the club were more than content with their discussions as they sat about, smoking and drinking. A few seemed to be intent on watching the female entertainment that abounded. But as Atvar walked through the hallways of the gentlemen's club, he understood that many of these males hadn't become members of this club for the nudity they could enjoy, instead they had come here to enjoy the ambiance and the exclusive nature of it. Membership was a trophy to be held in high esteem. Atvar followed the guide up a staircase and to the private rooms on the upper levels. The attendant lead him to a door and bowed again to him, that inviting smile fixed on her lips.

"Mr. Hellzac is waiting for you sir." She said and left. Milan nodded and stepped inside, smiling at the sight of the Salarian Crime lord seated in a rich leather chair and surrounded by bookcases filled with ancient volumes. A cigar was in one hand, a curl of smoke rising from it, and a decanter sitting on an end table next to him. Atvar knew that the Salarian enjoyed the ambiance and feel of the old human 'men's clubs' that one would find in England. The kind of place that the upper crust had access to, and the lower orders couldn't fathom. The Salarian smiled form his seat, his other hand lowering the only piece of visible high technology in the room, a holo reader with slowly scrolling lines of text.

"Atvar! A pleasure to see you at last!" Hellzac said with a smile, the false warmth in the Salarian's words were easily discerned by Milan, but the arms dealer knew that sometimes crime was like diplomacy, pretending to be dear friends with someone you'd willingly kill. Atvar stepped forward and extended his hand, grasping Hellzac's in a warm grip.

"It always is my friend! It's been far too long since my last visit. I see that your club is just as elegant, I do appreciate the staff, they're much easier on the eyes than when I was here last time." Atvar said with a lecherous smile.

"Yes, I have to agree with you. They're much nicer than some old human butlers and staff, much more enjoyable and accommodating." Hellzac said, pouring some brandy from his decanter and offering the glass to Milan. The human accepted it readily and sat in the chair across from Hellzac.

"Well, powerful men do expect certain 'understandings' and discretion of course." Milan said, sniffing the brandy lightly and rolling the decanter in his hand, letting the warmth of his hand bring out the flavor.

"Can I provide anything for you? You've traveled quite a long way, I'm sure that one of the attendants would be more than willing to relieve any traveling stress you might have. I can provide any kind of female company you might desire, Human, Aslan, Asari…" Hellzac said with all the skill of someone who'd long been used to saying things without saying things.

"No Drow?" Atvar asked with a chuckle and saw the accompanying expression on Hellzac's face.

"If you can actually find a female Drow who'd be willing to enjoy the touch of anything male, I'd pay you a very large sum of money. I've yet to find any such mythical creature." Hellzac said.

"I've heard the argument before…it is a shame that they're so…anti-male." Milan said with a sigh.

"But, other than Drow, I can provide any kind of relaxation aid you might desire. Shall I send for one?" Hellzac said.

"Thank you, but no. I wouldn't want to detract from our meeting with anything as trivial as that." Milan replied.

"I know that my club is quite enticing and relaxing, but what brings you so far my friend?" Hellzac asked, looking at Atvar with a probing gaze. Atvar let the question hang in the air and instead sniffed his brandy before he spoke.

"A…personal matter Hellzac, I'm rather curious about a shipment." Atvar said, crossing one leg over the other as he sank back slightly into his chair, letting the leather press against him as he appeared to relax.

"Ah…that might not be something I can provide my friend. I do a large amount of business on the expectation of anonymity. Anyone asking questions raises the issue of why they're asking questions…and who the answers might go to." Hellzac said, his voice turning icy.

"I can assure you, that this is a very important issue." Milan replied.

"That means little to me Atvar, it means very little to me." Hellzac said, his eyes narrowed.

"Hellzac, we've been doing business for years, I'd never let anything happen to our arrangement. It's been far to profitable for me to endanger." Atvar replied, his voice still warm and his smile not dropping a millimeter.

"So? Your intentions might be beneficial to me, but they mean nothing. Privileged information is something I don't hand out for free." Hellzac retorted and raised his goblet of brandy to his lips. Instead of being deterred, Atvar smiled with the unmistakable air of triumph. The Salarian saw the expression of triumph and didn't drink, but waited for the human to speak.

"So you will tell me." Atvar

"What are you talking about? I told you I would not." Hellzac said, lowering the glass and leaning forward in his seat, disbelieving the comment that had greeted his expectant waiting.

"You said you wouldn't give it out for free. So there is a price for the answer I want." Milan said with a smirk. Hellzac blinked in surprise and shook his head for a long moment before he leaned back into his seat, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Perhaps. Tell me what you want to know, and we will see just how willing I am to sell you a piece of information." Hellzac said, his words guarded and not willing to let anything else slip.

"Alright. Cerberus." Atvar said, and sipped his brandy.

"What makes you think that I know anything about them?"

"Don't play the fool with me Hellzac, I know that you've moved some weapons for them, especially for the planned attack on Mindor by Cerberus extremists. Who's paying for the weapons and where are they going?" Milan asked and Hellzac's head snapped back in shock from the statement.

"How did you know that?" Hellzac asked, shocked.

"I have my ways Hellzac, and you know that the attempted attack on Mindor was viewed very grimly by the Alliance. The plans and intentions of the Cerberus cell were downright horrific. Mass executions, biological and chemical weapons, outright slavery of anything non-human in that colony…there was a hell of a lot of outrage over the attack…anyone connected to it would be viewed very unfavorably." Atvar said casually, but the implication was clear.

"Is that a threat?" Hellzac shot back.

"No, a statement of fact my dear friend, a statement of fact. The Alliance is none to pleased over the issue. Now…of course, the Security Service knows that the Cerberus cell received weapons from somewhere. That somewhere was you, and don't you think it would be a bad idea to piss off the Alliance?" Atvar said idly, looking at his brandy as he spoke rather than at Hellzac, knowing how sour the Salarian's face was becoming.

"You forget, the Alliance has no way of getting me."

"True. But then why wait? The Citadel hates Cerberus just as much…and don't you think that if a Citadel based arms merchant was found to be supporting a terror attack on an Alliance Colony…" Atvar said trailing off, and smiling. Hellzac's face turned towards rage for a moment, and then settled back to the calm façade he was known for.

"Alright…alright…you've made your point my dear friend." Hellzac said acidly.

"Good, so who and where?"

"The where is always changing so I don't think that would help, the who however would be of more use. A human mercenary working for the Blue Suns." Hellzac said and typed some information onto his reader before ejecting a data chip and handing it to Atvar. The arms dealer examined the chip and slipped it into a pocket.

"Thank you so much my friend." Atvar replied, his voice lacking in sarcasm and actually sounding sincere.

"That's his information, but the most interesting isn't on that." Hellzac answered.

"How much?"

"Two hundred laser rifles, built to military specifications and provided with the accompanying equipment." Hellzac said without hesitation.

"That's a two million credit value." Atvar said, quickly figuring the cost of that arms shipment in his head.

"I know. Have the shipment sent to our usual transfer point in two days, otherwise our business arrangement will become far more adversarial in nature." Hellzac said, his voice deathly quiet. Atvar began to respond with a more flippant comment, but checked himself he knew it was no time to make things more dangerous, especially since he'd received what he'd wanted.

"Very well my friend. Now what about the information that is more interesting than a human name?"

"The buyer was human, I met him face to face. All the guards though, they were Asari. All of them were experts and very dangerous, but they weren't wearing blue suns armor or insignia. The human, he had a Blue Suns tattoo on his neck, but didn't have the armor. I don't think he had anything to do with them…and he didn't seem to be the one calling the shots in the whole affair, he felt to be more of an intermediary in the deal. A courier." Hellzac said.

"You said he was Blue Suns." Atvar said, his voice turning cold for the first time in the entire discussion.

"Yes, I somewhat lied, he clearly had a Blue Suns tattoo, but I didn't see a membership card. But I needed those rifles, and you didn't offer a price for my information." Hellzac said with a smile, and Atvar's response was a chuckle.

"Very true. Well played my friend, well played." Atvar said and lifted his brandy in a salute to the Salarian crime lord. Dealing with criminals was always interesting, and between the two business partners, things were always a dance, going from cordial relations to threats to blackmail and deceit…but in the end things were never dull.

"Now that the personal business is over my friend, will you stay for a meal? There is a lovely Salarian dish on tonight's menu in the main banquet chamber. I would be honored to have you here as my guest." Hellzac said, the cordial warmth that had been present at the beginning of the meeting returning.

"I would be delighted Hellzac." Atvar said with a smile of his own, making a mental note to add an extra ten laser rifles to the Salarian's shipment…the arms dealer did love the food here.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuchanka Military District, July 13<strong>**th**

Sneaking into Tuchanka was something that took a very good pilot to do. A good pilot, a good ship, an excellent set of forged codes, and a hell of a lot of luck. As Nihlus sat in the small control cabin of his freighter, he didn't think that it was to outrageous an expectation to want to sneak into the second most heavily guarded and occupied system in Alliance Space, past a patrol and picket fleet that would give a Turian Battle group reason to pause, and then land on a planet that was in the throes of brutal civil war and foreign occupation. Of course, some people might say that he was insane for attempting it.

Like Kezbana.

"You are mental man!" Kezbana said for a time that Nihlus had stopped counting. The Turian Spectre merely rolled his eyes and focused on flying. The documents and information that the CEDM station had forged for him had been modified for his freighter, the Salarian lead in the stations communications and espionage section had assured him that he Alliance fleet interdicting Tuchanka wouldn't challenge him with the false flag he had. Nihlus hadn't been foolish enough to ask anything more…since he was sure he didn't want to know just what they'd had to do to get their hands on codes capable of fooling the Alliance's AI systems.

"I am not insane. I'm testing a theory, and following a lead." Nihlus said quietly, his concentration focused on the sensor returns he was getting from the Alliance ships. His navigational computer was logging their positions and matching it with the known capabilities of Alliance ships. Melding the two together, along with the reports and data from the CEDM station that the Alliance had allowed to remain in high Orbit, his VI had formed up a comprehensive picture of the detection grid that had been placed over Tuchanka. From small recon drones to the sensor systems of Alliance Battle Cruisers, the VI couldn't find a crack in the sensors.

"And what are you trying to test, dude?" Kezbana asked. Nihlus finally looked over at the Drow and shook his head in disbelief as he saw the Drow holding a bottle of whiskey and taking a swig between his declarations of Nihlus' insanity. Without the bottle, the Drow would look like an extremely lethal soldier. Festooned with blades over heavy duty armor that was black as midnight, it wasn't hard to see the assassin in him…but the bottle of almost drained Jameson Whiskey in his gauntleted fist detracted from the steely killer look. Nihlus sighed slightly and almost regretted bringing the assassin along with him, but stifled the thought. He'd read up on the Drow's impressive history of assassinations after listening to a few 'drunken admissions', although Nihlus was certain that everything about the Drow was a carefully crafted façade intended to keep anyone facing him off balance and uneasy. Nihlus was impressed with the killer side…but the drunk was much less impressive.

"Tuchanka has a growing resistance movement to the Alliance's occupation. They've been receiving weapons from off planet to fuel it since Tuchanka doesn't have anything close to the manufacturing capacity and resources of the Alliance. The Krogan need weapons to fight a war and they're being smuggled in by someone." Nihlus explained slowly, shaking his head at Kezbana's offered bottle.

"Well, duh." Was the Drow's only reply.

"Look at the sensor grid of the Alliance fleet, no holes." Nihlus said, and pointed to the display screen. Kezbana shrugged outwardly, but Nihlus caught the sharp gaze of his eyes studying the display. The Turian Spectre smiled slightly at the lingering gaze of the Drow.

"Yeah…"

"So if nothing can sneak in without being vaporized, which I'm certain is the case…then how are the weapons being smuggled in?" Nihlus asked.

"Same way we're getting in." Kezbana said sounding slightly tired of the 'lesson' Nihlus was giving, he eased back into his seat and resumed drinking his whiskey.

"Right. We've made it in. And we only made it in because of the codes that the CEDM has access to. Someone with resources is supporting the war on Tuchanka. Someone powerful."

"Another checkmark in your 'evil Spectre stoking a war' column I guess." Kezbana said and yawned, then propped his feet up casually on the console in front of him. Nihlus sighed and checked the piloting VI. They'd crossed into the atmosphere moments before and slicing through the radioactive and dust choked atmosphere, headed towards the input navpoint that was set high in the northern mountain range. Beneath them shattered cities and urban ruins dotted the land, swallowed up by the harsh deserts. Some pockets of aggressive foliage could be seen blossoming in the foreboding desolation. Nihlus knew that some of them were native, but others were genetically engineered strains the Alliance had seeded the world with in an attempt to terraform the world. As he looked out, he could see Alliance patrol craft flying across the skies, and occasionally, patrol convoys moving down cleared avenues in the shattered remains of the Krogan's last civilization.

Looking at Tuchanka, it felt as if every aspect of the world was in conflict. The people at war with the invading Alliance forces. The ecology itself at war with the genetically engineered interlopers that the Alliance had introduced. Nihlus couldn't blame the Krogan for fighting back, but it was a mixed feeling deep in his heart. Part of him wanted the Krogan to remain caged and never again threaten the galaxy…but another part of him wanted them to at least be free to decide their own fate in the galaxy. Nihlus shook his head and looked back at the navigational system.

"Now that we're in the atmosphere and I don't have access to a comlink, would you mind telling me who we're going to visit? You've played this close enough to the vest…" Kezbana said.

"Yes, because you couldn't give me a contact name for the people who hired you."

"I gave you an account, routing information, and a bank trail. It's not my fault you won't give it to your C-Sec or Spectre buddies and have them backtrack it to the source." Kezbana grumbled and Nihlus winced slightly. He hadn't told the Drow killer that he wasn't working on 'official' council duties with this operation, and that the truth was…he wasn't even sure that Councilor Hillardan had the authority to direct him on this hunt.

"We're tracking this lead for the moment. There's a group of Krogan who aren't pro-Alliance, and aren't part of the Insurgency. They're mostly neutral, and their leader is…unusual." Nihlus said to the Drow and looked out the viewport. The freighter had moved into it's final approach and was lowering into a landing pad that had been camouflaged amid the ruins of what might have been a Krogan town in bygone days, but was now a ruin of rusted metal and crumbled masonry. The Freighter settled down onto it's landing legs and Nihlus rose. Kezbana rose along with him and nodded, the pretense of being a drunkard gone as he smiled slightly savagely.

"Well, I hope your lead decides to cause a scene. I need to work out some kinks." Kezbana said, flexing his neck with a smile.

"You think you can take down Krogan? With melee weapons?" Nihlus said, shaking his head.

"I've done it before, and I was a lot drunker then too." Kezbana replied with a shrug as they walked towards the landing ramp. Nihlus didn't respond to the Drow's cocky words, instead he checked his shotgun and steeled himself for the meeting. He'd sent word ahead, but he hadn't received a response back. Not that he had expected a conversation to develop between a Turian Spectre and a Krogan warlord, he'd just expected to warn the Krogan not to blast them to pieces.

So far, things had been going to plan.

"You want to tell us who the hell you are before we kill you?" The grating voice said across the landing platform as Nihlus and Kezbana walked down it.

Exactly according to plan.

"Now what o fearless leader?" Kezbana said as he raised his hands slowly and smiled. Nihlus did the same as he looked at the greeting party of Krogan standing behind cover. Several of them were armed Citadel style small arms, but one hefted a weapon that had clearly been appropriated from an Alliance SLAV vehicle, one of their multi-barrel gattling lasers. Normally vehicle mounted, this one was being carried by a Krogan who seemed more than willing to use it and reduce the pair on the landing ramp to meat. Nihlus steeled himself and raised his hands up slightly.

"I'm Nihlus Kryik I sent word that I wanted to meet with your Warlord." Nihlus said loudly, looking at the weapon muzzles pointed at him, and deciding that there were probably a few that he couldn't see also primed to blow him away.

"Oh, you. The Spectre. He didn't invite you here Spectre." One of the Krogan called.

"We assumed the invitation was an oversight." Kezbana said with a smile.

"He doesn't want to see you, or your Drow toy." The Krogan called back, receiving a few rumbling laughs from the Krogan guards.

"I came here to ask him why he's decided to be a lackey for the Citadel." Nihlus said calmly, and waited for the reply to that little comment. Inwardly, he was smiling, he knew for a fact that the Warlord was not the kind to bow down to anyone, like any Krogan with a sliver of pride in his soul.

"What the hell are you talking about Turian? The Warlord isn't anyone's lackey, not Krogan, not Alliance, and sure as hell not Citadel." The Krogan guard called back, but Nihlus noted one or two of the visible Krogan guards were casting glances at each other.

"I just want to ask him why he's taking orders from a Council Spectre." Nihlus repeated and smiled slightly.

"You watch your mouth Turian or I'll rip those mandibles off your face." The Krogan guard replied, and he began stepping out from cover, the assault rifle in his hands almost a toy next to his bulk and armor, but with the way it was aimed at his midsection, Nihlus knew it would kill him rather easily. The Spectre stood his ground as the Krogan emerged from cover, weapons ready for trouble.

"I'll tell the truth, there are Krogan on Tuchanka who are taking orders from the Citadel. Your Warlord isn't one of them, but I think he knows who is…and why. So if you want to kill me for trying to find who's making your people kill Alliance soldiers, go ahead. Kill my pet Drow too, but ask yourself if you want to be the guy who killed me when your boss just might give a damn about the Krogan." Nihlus said, looking up at the Krogan guard towering over him, but not showing a hint of fear. If the Krogan had wanted to, Nihlus was sure his head would be ripped off with as little hesitation as one would show when they squashed a bug. But Nihlus also knew that if he was going to die, he'd have been killed as he stepped down the ramp. He didn't glance to either side, instead he held the gaze of the Krogan guard for almost a minute in stony silence. Beside him, Kezbana was cleaning his fingernails with a knife he'd produced from somewhere, not even looking at the massive Krogan warriors standing around him with weapons aimed and ready.

"Alright. You want to talk to the Warlord, fine, you can talk to the Warlord. But you're going to die afterwards." The massive Krogan guard said at last. Nihlus didn't say a word, his only response was a nod.

"Well, you make it sound just so inviting. Beautiful world, wonderful people, amazing attractions…I would just be tickled pink to spend the rest of my life here." Kezbana said with a voice that was infused with sarcasm, but a smile that seemed almost sincere. Two of the Krogan guards moved in close, weapons raised and murderous looks on their alien faces. Nihlus knew the expression on the Krogan's faces but wasn't in any position to draw their murderous attention, he had a gatling laser aimed at his midsection along with two other Krogan holding assault rifles. The Turian winced slightly, knowing what was coming, but powerless to stop it.

"Come with me Turian, your friend is going to entertain the others. You might just join him if the Warlord doesn't like what you have to say." The Krogan hefting the laser weapon rumbled. Nihlus looked over to Kezbana and saw an expression of joy on his face. The momentary revelation in what was about to happen snapped into Niles's mind before he watched Kezbana move. The two Krogan were both towering over him, the Drow was no lightweight, but compared to a Krogan everyone was small. He had to look up at the massive beasts who seemed fully expecting to mettle out a beating on an insolent and rather indifferent alien. The expression of mirth on Kezbana's face didn't shift a millimeter as he began chuckling.

That was the straw that pushed one of the Krogan over the edge. His rifle twisted and came up across his body with the clear intention of butt stroking Kezbana in the face. It was fast, and backed by every ounce of muscle the alien possessed. It would have connected, but it sailed beneath the Drow Assassin's head as he ducked low and stepped to one side, placing the attacking Krogan's bulk between the Drow and the Krogan's companion. The attacker staggered slightly as the Drow refused to be where he expected him to be, but his sagging leg was caught by the heavily armored heel of Kez's left boot. The blow was aimed with the skill of someone who spent as much time studying alien bodies as a Xeno-bologist, the nerve cluster controlling most of the muscles in the Krogan's leg jerked and dropped him to one knee. In a rage, the Krogan tried to swing his rifle back and blindly fire, but his wild motion was deftly caught and Kezbana's nimble fingers hit the 'retract' toggle on the warrior's weapon. It closed down on his hand firmly and the Krogan rumbled in rage…from the pain in his hand, and the humiliating backhand that Kezbana slapped the side of his head with.

Nihlus watched in shock at the Drow's movements, he could follow them…but simply seeing someone decide to fight two Krogan warriors with their bare hands was a rather rare sight. He saw the Krogan who'd staggered to the ground turn and charge at the Drow, Nihlus expected the short fight to end messily with that motion, the Krogan was powerful, and close enough that Kezbana didn't have a chance to dodge. His arms spread wide, the warrior hurled himself at the Assassin. A sharp crack filled the air, and Kezbana's fist struck the Krogan square between the eyes, his hand was warped into an unusual form, but the effect was dramatic. One blow blinded the Krogan with pain and made him stagger to the ground. The second Krogan was raising his weapon to simply gun down the Drow…but Kezbana had other ideas.

With a glint of silver that was stark against the midnight black of his combat armor, one of Kezbana's concealed blades flashed from his grasp and sliced into the muzzle of the Krogan's assault rifle, mutilating the barrel enough to make it useless. The warrior blinked and realized that the blade could have very easily been lodged in his skull. He snarled and tossed the useless weapon aside, understanding that the Drow wanted a fight, not a gun battle. The Krogan warrior that had been sent to his knees shook off the pain and began to pry the weapon off his hand.

All the while, Kezbana's face was glowing with enjoyment at the fight. Nihlus had never witnessed anything remotely close to this kind of behavior. As a soldier, he'd seen Turians fight out of duty and honor, he'd seen it in countless beings as a Spectre. But Kezbana seemed to revel at the prospect of fighting a pair of Krogan in hand to hand combat. Nihlus wondered if the Drow was merely suicidal or if he actually wanted to carry out a wanton display of violence and brutality. While searching for him, Nihlus had heard about the viciousness of the gold and silver inked assassin, but had considered them to be embellishments and rumors. Now…seeing it in action, Nihlus knew that this Drow lived up to his reputation.

"Come on princess, I'm not done fucking either of you yet." Kezbana sneered at the standing Krogan, then punctuated the jibe by locking his hands together and slamming his gauntleted fists into the side of the kneeling Krogan's head. It snapped to one side sickeningly and he followed up the blow with an armored knee striking the downed warrior in the side of his neck. With no more fanfare than a grunt the Krogan fell to the scarred ferrocrete landing pad without lapsing into a blood rage. The other Krogan were riveted by the battle going on before them. Nihlus could tell that they probably should have cut down Kezbana from a distance as the first Krogan warrior fell, but they seemed reluctant to interfere. Kezbana stepped away from the unconscious Krogan and moved into the clear, grinning wildly at the remaining opponent.

"Well, I'm waiting. You have a quad or what?" Kezbana said, and spat the common Krogan term derisively as he raised his hands in a fighting stance that looked very sloppy to Nihlus's eyes, and he realized it was another technique that the assassin was using to insult his opponent. Unlike the first warrior, the second was no fool, he wasn't going to rush in like his partner, and instead began closing the distance with slow and determined steps. His fists were raised and ready, but every sinew of his being seemed to scream his desire to drive forward and roll over the insolent Drow, using his size and weight to his advantage. The warrior didn't waste breath on returning a verbal jab at Kez, instead he just moved steadily closer, staying silent and allowing the murderous gaze affixed on his face speak for him. Kezbana knew the glint in the Krogan's eyes and chuckled at it.

With a quick motion he darted in and slapped the Krogan in the snout. A wide sweep went over Kezbana's head and he grabbed the Krogan's forearm, letting the warrior's immense strength yank him off his feet. The movement was acrobatic as Kez used the momentum to swing around the Krogan's burly arm and up onto the warrior's armored shoulders and hump. With a bark of laughter, Kezbana kicked the back of the warriors head and back flipped off of the warrior as he staggered. Kezbana landed and dropped to one knee as the Krogan spun and charged at him. The warrior's lunge at Kezbana was fast enough that the Drow couldn't dodge, but Nihlus saw that the assassin wasn't planning to. As the Krogan's bulk closed on Kezbana, he grabbed the Krogan's outstretched hands and rolled onto his back, one foot jammed into the Krogan's chest armor. The Krogan's own momentum carried him over the Drow and flying through the air. His landing was none too gentle as he slammed into a rough block that might have been a home or a bunker long ago. Kezbana stood up, but the warrior didn't.

"That was delightful, drink anyone?" Kezbana asked removing a flask from one of his armor pouches, unscrewing the cap with complete indifference to the two unconscious Krogan and the growing plethora of weaponry that was leveled at him. Nihlus merely stared at him in disbelief, wondering absently if he was lucky that the Drow wanted to work with him, or if he was cursed for having a madman alongside him…

…but decided that any madman who could fight a pair of Krogan in hand to hand combat was fine in his book.

"Can I speak with the Warlord now that my friend is done with his diversion?" Nihlus asked, directing his eyes back to the Krogan hefting the gatling laser.

"Alright, why not?" Came another voice from somewhere in the ruins surrounding the landing pad. Nihlus looked as the Krogan guards stepped back, weapons still ready, but not wanting to crowd the Turian and the surprisingly dangerous Drow.

"Urdnot Wrex, a pleasure to see you." Nihlus said with a smile as he gazed at the foreboding figure that marched into view.


	6. Chapter 5

** A/N: **

** Well folks, I'm back with another chapter and I'm considering discussing a matter that has come up repeatedly during the story. I don't like to have to explain things, but seeing the Drow issue mentioned once more in a negative light disappoints me. In the past few days I've been enunciating my position in a few forum posts talking about some of the much deeper meanings behind my decisions in this story. Some I've talked about, some I've alluded to, some I've completely let fly under the radar. I'm sure that a few of you have caught the deeper subtleties in my choices, but I know that they've been a bit obscure.**

** There are subtle critiques of many aspects of Mass Effect that I've woven into the story. My choices of species, or actions, of technology are all tailored to point out some rather glaring clichés in the ME series and in some cases point out…in others, openly mock. I can talk about a lot, but if I go into a long dissertation about it, I think it will ruin things. No one likes having a joke explained to them.**

** I think it best to let the story play out, for better or worse and to let you, the reader draw out the conclusions of my points.**

** On another note, some of you may have noticed my starting of a Dragon Age II story, check it out if you like, but I will warn you that the story is going to be character driven, rather than event driven like this story. But, I just thought I'd mention it in case anyone is curious.**

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><p><strong>Tuchanka Military District, July 13<strong>**th**

"And why the hell should I think it's good to see a Spectre and his Drow lackey? No matter how well you might have thrashed my warriors." Wrex said as he marched heavily into the landing area, his wide set eyes surveying the destruction that a single Drow had wrought with his bare hands. There was a trace of admiration in the Krogan Warlord's eyes as he surveyed it, and graced the Drow with a nod rather than outright contempt. Kezbana chuckled and made a flourishing bow. Nihlus looked over to the drunkard assassin and shook his head. It was without a doubt one of the most daring, skilled and insane displays he'd ever witnessed, few people would dare fight two Krogan when they were armed to the teeth, let alone bare handed.

"Because the Drow lackey beat the shit out of two of your thugs and the Spectre is asking nicely." Nihlus said casually, looking at Wrex with what might have passed for a casual smile in other context, but right now seemed to be an expression of the wildest optimism. Nihlus knew that no matter how much power and authority he might wield in Council space, he was on an Alliance Occupied world. Even that might have meant something in the grand scheme of things, but this was the base of one of the Krogan Warlords. Being a Spectre meant nothing, other than being a very fancy name for a corpse.

"True enough. So talk Turian, what do you think you're going to get out of me that you couldn't find with your Salarian intelligence or Asari seduction? What brings little old you out to the nether regions of the galaxy…and risk having the Alliance Navy reduce you to atoms?" Wrex asked, not yet taking his eyes away from Nihlus, but very much aware of the Drow.

"Questions, he's full of them." Kezbana said jovially, looking down at his nails as he casually cleaned them with a wicked looking blade he'd produced from somewhere.

"In a manner of speaking. I hear that you were offered a job." Nihlus said.

"I get lots of jobs Turian. What does one matter to you? Offend your sensibilities?" Wrex asked.

"No. I meant the job that you were offered in leading a Krogan Rebellion against the Alliance. Kind of like what you're doing now, except this is freelance." Nihlus said, and braced himself. Wrex rumbled in anger and one meaty fist came up to poke him viciously in his chest plate.

"You better get your facts straight Turian! I'm not leading any rebellion. I'm on my own. My warriors follow me because they're sick of everyone in this damn galaxy deciding that the Krogan are their pets to mold as they wish! The Salarians used us as attack varren to take on the Rachnni, you Turians neutered us, then left us caged here in case you needed us again. Then the Alliance comes and tries to civilize us and make us productive little members of their 'federation of species'. They kill anyone who resists and you don't think that'll piss us off? I came back to this world because I'm sick of the galaxy, we deserve to be left alone." Wrex rumbled, his fist close to Nihlus's face, and the Spectre wasn't sure if the Krogan was going to deck him with it or not.

"That why you refused the offer?"

"I won't ask how you know about it Spectre, but yeah, that's why I refused the offer. I wasn't going to take an Asari's handout to do what's right for my people. I don't need guns or credits, I need the Krogan to make the Krogan free. We've survived our own wars, we survived the Citadel's manipulations, and we'll survive the Alliance, no matter how much they think they'll change us. We can do this on our own." Wrex shot back.

"You know other Warlords weren't so high minded." Nihlus said grimly.

"Yeah, I know. They don't have faith in their warriors, fine, not my problem. Mine are good, and they know they aren't fighting for some Citadel puppet against the Alliance. They're fighting for their damn people. Alliance managed to do more for us than we'd managed with that at least." Wrex growled.

"I need to know who offered you the support Wrex." Nihlus prodded.

"Why should I tell you?"

"You think those other Warlords care about the Krogan as much as you Wrex? You think they care more for your people than they care for their clans? They'd turn on you if they drove the Alliance off the planet tomorrow." Nihlus said.

"You think that scares me? We're Krogan. We'll fight for our people, even if that means we have to kill the fools that think they can keep to the old ways. Either way, the Alliance is their threat now, and they're making the Alliance nervous by fighting better than they should. So why would I want to hurt that?" Wrex said, and for the first time Nihlus heard the difference in the Krogan's words. As the vast size of the Krogan Warlord moved away from him, Nihlus let himself breath for a moment before deciding to speak again…but Kezbana beat him to it.

"Honestly, that's pretty stupid." Kezbana muttered theatrically, and got the attention of everyone on the landing pad.

"What's that little Drow?" Wrex spat.

"I just said, you're pretty damn stupid if you don't care about how your rivals are getting their gear. Just saying, you ever ask why somebody cares about the Krogan all of a sudden?" Kezbana said in a casual manner.

"No, I don't, the Galaxy has used us since they found us. Why should now be any different?"

"Hey, I'm not saying that you're not pissed off for good reason. Look at me, my gender is nothing more than a disgusting and despicable remnant of a 'bi gendered system' to just about every sane female in my own species. I know something about grievances. But I'm just wondering, the Turian over there knows how people are fucking with you, you know how people are fucking with you, why not fuck back? I mean…that's half the fun…" Kezbana said and shrugged. Slowly, Wrex walked across the pad and closer to the Drow, who was still standing there, cleaning his nails with the blade. The massive bulk of a Krogan Warlord, clad in over a ton's worth of armor and weapons didn't faze him in the slightest.

"I like the way you think Drow." Wrex said finally.

"Call me Kez. Now would you please just tell the Turian over there what he wants to know? He's whiny when he doesn't get what he wants." Kez said with a smile.

"Maybe, but why should I make life easier on the Alliance? They're the occupiers after all." Wrex said finally.

"Because the Krogan haven't managed to do much of anything on their own that's succeeded." Nihlus said, and he felt every weapon held in Krogan hands trained on him as soon as the words left his mouth. It was a miracle that he didn't get ripped apart by weapons fire for that comment, and the glares of the Krogan surrounding them seemed to bear mute testimony to the fact that they did indeed wish to turn the Turian to a liquid for such a flippant remark. But Wrex just looked at him and nodded slightly.

"True. Very true. We can't do this on our own, really on our own, then what have we got? Krogan are warriors, we're good mercenaries. But if we have to hire ourselves out to someone else to take back our own world, then what are we?" Wrex said finally, and the weapons began to lower, astonished expressions on the faces of the Krogan warriors surrounding them. Hearing their Battlemaster say such a thing was outrageous in the extreme. But the sincerity in Wrex's words was enough to make them lower their weapons. Few of the guards understood what their leader was insinuating, but it was enough to see the nods for them to realize that their Warlord knew just how important their fight was…and for all of them, that was reason enough for them to follow him.

"Who offered you supplies and funding to lead your people?" Nihlus asked again and Wrex tapped in several commands on his Omni tool. A small data chit ejected from his armor and he handed it to Nihlus in an immense gauntleted hand.

"It wasn't just supplies. It was leverage over the other Clans. Control even. They offered to eliminate the leaders of the Clans who would refuse to follow my lead and place me in complete control of the Krogan as a whole…I don't think they understood how disunited we are, but whoever she was, she was serious about eliminating the leaders. She also offered mercenary armies, Alliance weapons and equipment, millions of Credits…things that you need to win a war. She knew her business, but she was pretty out of it with her last offer." Wrex said as Nihlus took the data chit and looked at it.

"What was her last offer?" The Spectre asked.

"A cure to the Genophage." Wrex replied simply.

"A _what_?" Nihlus asked, shocked at the implication.

"A cure. Something to keep our species from dying out in that long slow genocide you Turians subjected us to. But it's just another lie that someone decided would be enough to gain our loyalty. We're not as stupid as you think Turian. I won't be bought by lies any more than I'd be bought by trinkets." Wrex rumbled.

"I…see…" Nihlus said finally, his mind not moving far from thoughts of the Genophage.

"Are you done Spectre? Because I don't enjoy your company anymore than I enjoyed that Asari's." Wrex said, turning away from Nihlus and walking away from them, a not so subtle message that the conversation was over. As the Warlord walked away, Nihlus glanced over at the assassin and saw the Drow shrug, not outwardly that interested in what was going on. Nihlus's thoughts were chaotic at best, a contrast to the seeming disinterest that his Drow compatriot had in the entire affair.

"I appreciate your help Warlord." Nihlus said finally.

"I don't care about your appreciation Turian. Give Sederis my regards when you peel her for information Turian." Wrex said at last and left the pair behind, followed by his guards. Nihlus looked at them as they left, silent. With a slight shake of his head, he walked up the ramp, realizing that he'd not set foot on Tuchanka or even left the landing ramp. Kez followed him up, the laid back Drow just as silent as the professional Spectre.

"So tell me…who is Sederis?" Nihlus asked as he closed the hatch and walked towards the cockpit. Kezbana grunted softly and nodded as he walked behind the Turian Spectre.

"You don't know?" Kezbana asked.

"Apparently not. But I'm rather sure that you do, don't you?"

"Jona Sederis, an Asari Commando that leads one of the Galaxy's largest Mercenary groups, the Eclipse. High on skill, low on morality. They run everything from Red Sand and other narcotics, to illegal weapons. Predominantly Asari and with a penchant for biotics. Good technical skills as well. They're…unpleasant to deal with." Kezbana explained, looking at the Spectre as he sat down in the pilot's chair.

"Ah…that Sederis." Nihlus said grimly.

"Yes, that one. Of course, you know just how cutthroat they are…even if they are sociopaths and thugs." Kezbana said idly as he settled back into his seat.

"And you're any better?" Nihlus asked sarcastically.

"Are you? Honestly Spectre, the only difference between _you_ and those Krogan out there are that you've got the Council's blessing to carry out your killing…and I'm pretty sure many of _them_ had it as well at one point, and in the face of far greater threat. You want to separate any of us Spectre, you better remember that who you're doing something and how you're doing it matter. Killing is killing, I at least have style. You're mechanical and blunt about it. A professional. I'm a different kind, Spectre." Kezbana said acidly as he leaned back, his eyes flickering with a deadly fire for a moment before subsiding. Nihlus gazed right back.

"Perhaps. But now you'd better focus on what matters, you wanted to follow along to find who the damn puppet master is in this whole thing. Sederis is next." Nihlus said, ignoring the slight challenge from the Drow.

"I suppose so." Kezbana said and yawned, closing his eyes and kicking back again.

"Right…" Nihlus said and began powering the ship for takeoff again, wondering just what his report to Councilor Hillardan would say. A cure to the Genophage was a threat to the entire galaxy, a threat that couldn't be ignored under any circumstance. Without the check on their breeding, the Krogan could overwhelm the Galaxy and threaten the Council. Even if Wrex saw the Genophage Cure as being little more than a lie, the fact that someone had realized the ultimate enticement to many Krogan would be a Cure. Strange how curing a disease could be a threat to the galaxy. Slowly, Nihlus shook his head sadly, wondering what this meant for the Galaxy.

Threat to the Galaxy.

Nihlus could even see the capital letters in his mind.

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><p><strong>Omega, August 1<strong>**st**

"I've seen better places to waltz into. I don't think that I would enjoy entering that place without a Company of Marines and a Walker section." Vox murmured from where he leaned against a rough rock wall. Around him the whirling chaos of Omega carried on, oblivious to one among their number who would have had good cause to arrest many of them if his jurisdiction carried here. Lawmen certainly weren't welcome on Omega, and the Alliance Marshall had shed his more exotic and prominent clothing for a much more nondescript ensemble that was merely casual clothing covered with a brown leather jacket, his revolver tucked beneath his left armpit, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, the Martian Marauders emblem prominent for it's garish colors. He blended in with almost all of the beings that wandered past him, Alliance fashions had expanded into the Terminus Systems faster than they had into Citadel Space, and a Tortuga port like Omega had accelerated the process.

Seeing Salarians wearing Levis and Batarians in Armani was still a novelty to Reekan. But Omega was a place that the entire galaxy showed itself. The Citadel was regimented and well ordered…you could find every species from the Citadel, and a growing expatriate population of Alliance members…but you'd never see Batarians in any number, or Xel-grash, or Bellki, or any of the dozens of species that lived in the Terminus Systems. The Marshall was more familiar than many with the 'persona non grata' members of the Galaxy who thought it rather novel that they could travel much more freely into Alliance space than they could into the 'enlightened' territory of the Citadel.

But without a doubt, Omega was as diverse and cosmopolitan as the Citadel, without all those pesky laws and such. Which was the main reason that Vox constantly fought the urge to start trying to arrest people around him. Seeing open drug use, sales of any kind of vice you could imagine, and the sheer gall to have open slave auctions…it was enough to make any law officer insane at the impotence they were forced to endure. He knew that the station was little more than barely controlled anarchy…but if someone tried to enforce the rules of the Civilized galaxy, there were few faster ways of getting everyone to work together. Vox grumbled as he looked at the main thoroughfare that sat outside of Afterlife. The tract was filled with pedestrians, but many of the beings were waiting in line to enter the exclusive club.

Of course, everyone was waiting in line politely, the presence of a number of beings who were armed to the teeth and glaring down tended to give the Elcor 'bouncer' enough backup that everyone listened to his slow droning speech without complaint…well…_mostly_ without complaint. Vox had seen several beings getting shoved rather bodily out of line by armed guards for being too vocal. He'd even seen one patron get tossed over the balcony for not taking the hint.

"You think so? I'm not stupid enough to try this on my own hook. Why do you think you're here Vox?" Came Mintara's voice over the implant comlink set behind his left ear. Idly, Vox looked up across the crowd of pedestrians and saw the Omega operative leaning against the railing and looking out at the city, he still got to wear his tailored suit and flashy clothing. He was stylish, but a display of wealth here wasn't that out of place. Afterlife was the kind of place that drew the rich and affluent, along with the downtrodden and trendy. Mintara was the former, Vox was supposed to be the latter. In between however was the pair of compatriots who'd arrived on Omega days before and made no contact with them yet. One was standing down the by-way in his full combat armor, browsing a merchant who was selling after market weapons modifications for Citadel pattern small arms. The being in head to toe armor was matte black and covered with pouches for ammunition magazines and other equipment. The only identification was an archaic sword in white on the shoulders of the armor plate.

Beneath the armor was the form of an Aslan warrior-mercenary. He was known as Taziz, a stalwart fighter like most of his kind, and like much of the Aslan male gender, a soldier. Unlike his kin, he'd enlisted with the Black Legion rather than the Alliance military, deciding that the higher wages of a private contractor were rather more tangible than land grants…something that made him rather unusual for his kind. Most Aslan males served to gain land…very few sought credits as a mean to that end. But Taziz had always been an unusual male, unusual enough that the displeasure with the 'less honorable' ways of fighting didn't stop him from working with Mintara.

Slowly, the Aslan straightened and walked away from the vendor, merging with the pedestrians ambling by. None took much note of the armored being in their midst, Blue Suns and Eclipse mercenaries were also moving through the crowd. The Aslan received the usual 'professional distaste' from the other mercenaries…which was a polite way of saying glares and obscene gestures. Taziz ignored them and instead casually walked past the line of beings waiting to enter Afterlife. The mercenary was a stoic kind, and did little to inform Mintara and Vox of his being in position with anything beyond a double tap of his com.

"Three out of four. Are you ready preacher?" Mintara murmured, still looking out over the beaten and worn cityscape beyond the thoroughfare.

"Without question my son." A growling voice replied over the com.

"Just try not to meet your God too son Riton. Alright?"

"I'm devout, but I'm not eager to test all my beliefs just yet. I'll be cautious." Riton replied with a chuckle. Mintara shook his head and Vox sighed.

"Shall we Vox?" Mintara asked, rising from where he was leaning and walking towards the entry line to Afterlife. The casually dressed Marshall walked towards the main entrance casually, Taziz joining the slow amble. In the crowds of pedestrians, none of the three stood out, but as they slowly walked two of the bounders carrying assault rifles turned and left their over watch positions, leaving the large Elcor bouncer manning the line and a single armed bouncer backing up the massive being. The trio walked past the Elcor, gaining the attention of the Batarian wearing combat armor and cradling an assault rifle. A look of annoyance flashed across his uncovered face and he stepped forward as the three walked up the stairs, the Elcor not turning.

"Line's back there." He said simply, gesturing with his rifle towards the long line of beings standing and waiting, most of them eyeing the line-jumpers in annoyance. Vox walked forward, his hand reaching inside his jacket idly.

"Well, you know…we're in a rush and we didn't want to stand around waiting." Vox said idly, looking inside his jacket as if he were searching for a wallet.

"Listen human, just wait in the line. Aria doesn't like her people taking bribes." The Batarian said tiredly. It was clear that plenty of people tried to make their way into the club without a wait, not such an unusual thing in the galaxy when it came to nightclubs. Of course, most didn't have heavily armed guards ready to cut someone down for trying to walk in. But normally there were more than one, but the Preacher's diversion at the secondary entrance had drawn off enough of the guards to make the normally 'quiet' front the easy entrance.

"Bribe? Who said anything about a bribe?" Mintara said in mock confusion and the Batarian looked to his left at the Omega agent. The ruse was a simple one, Vox looked like the guy trying to make a bribe, and Mintara drew the guard's attention completely to one side.

The side that Taziz was standing on. Black Legion mercenaries were known for a lot of things in the galaxy. They were known for being dangerous fighters, extremely well trained, well equipped, and very well motivated. They were feared for other things however, a reputation for only taking contracts that were against the scum of the galaxy…slavers, drug dealers, terrorists, known for using melee weapons and close combat very readily in combat, and for not showing any mercy when it came to getting the job done. It was a lethal combination, and something that had developed their reputation throughout the galaxy in a few short years. Considering all that, it was folly that the Batarian took any of his four eyes off the black armored mercenary standing to one side, but he was new and young.

Taziz's rifle caught him behind the side of his head, sending the Batarian to the ground, and the blow was followed by an armored boot sending him completely into unconsciousness. The Aslan crouched to check the Batarian and ensure that he wasn't dead, then rose, glancing back at the line of beings waiting and seeing the surprised glances. With a shrug, he rose and flicked the selector lever on his rifle. Mintara and Vox walked through the main entrance, Taziz following, weapon ready as the two humans walked as casually as if they'd waited in line and were headed for a night on the town. The patrons sitting in the entry way stared at them curiously, but none rose to stop them. It wasn't until they made their way through the second set of doors and stood in the main floor. Smoke filled the air and music thrummed loudly as bodies mulled about and danced to the beat that permeated the air as thickly as the smoke. Asari women danced in next to nothing as their bodies undulated to the music. Taken on it's own, it could be like any of thousands of clubs in the galaxy, but this was Omega, more than one being was wearing an assault rifle across their back, or boasting more than one sidearm. There were more subtle signs of nervous patrons who boasted money, beings standing still and eyeing every other patron warily.

The trio walked through the dancing crowd, all of them ignorant of the trio that were walking through their midst and the heavy handed way that they'd entered. Mostly they received idle looks from the patrons that even bothered to notice them. Mintara's Armani and striking tailored clothing drew most of the looks, Vox's lower class street clothing let him garner only looks of disdain, while Taziz's armor was a mere curiosity. For the patrons that is. Aria's guards were much more alert to the unwelcome visitors than anyone else. The forms of Batarian and Turian guards moving through the crowds. Most of them weren't ready to draw weapons, but a few were prudent enough to have shotguns and assault rifles at the ready as they shoved their way through the crowd. A few dancing patrons grumbled, but most saw the weapons and began moving back fearfully.

"Well, we got in the door, now it looks like we're about to be thrown out of it." Vox muttered as the line of guards closed with them.

"A firefight would be unwise." Taziz said simply, his helmet shifting one way, then the other to take in the entire situation. They had a large number of bystanders, were outnumbered, and from what he could see, the guards on the main floor weren't the only ones, the upper level had a growing number of armed thugs standing along the railing and looking down, their own rifles readied. It was a bad situation, no matter how you cut it.

"We weren't going to plan on a firefight, so I think we'll be alright. We just needed to get in through the front door and get Aria's attention." Mintara said as the line of enforcers in front of them got thicker and any thought of slipping past them evaporated. None of them looked to be keen on negotiating, or even talking, all of them were armed with Citadel pattern assault rifles and shotguns, nasty weapons at close range against anything short of heavy armor. If they wanted to, the trio of gate crashers would get turned to hamburger before their rifles overheated.

"Yeah, remind me why I should be fine with that…" Vox said, reaching up and tossing aside his ball cap.

"You're coming with us, now." One of the Batarians said menacingly, stepping in front of the rough line of guards. Mintara stepped forward, smiling from behind his mirrored shooting glasses.

"Gentlemen, please, we're here to have a business meeting with Ms. T'Loak." Mintara said easily.

"Aria doesn't meet with thugs who skip lines and attack her guards." The Batarian replied.

"Oh, I understand completely, it's not exactly good form, but one does have to make a splash when trying to meet with Ms T'Loak. She's too, sophisticated, to speak with someone that's merely a straggler off the streets." Mintara said, and stopped a step away from the Batarian, the guard's rifle pointed at his stomach.

"You picked the wrong person to try to meet, you and your boys are coming with us, and Aria will not be talking to you." The guard snarled and moved to prod Mintara in the gut with his rifle muzzle. It was mistake. The Omega turned casually and let the muzzle pass his stomach, the flat of his left hand cracking the Batarian in the chest. The agent's cybernetic left arm hammered into the armor with force enough to send stress fractures across the hardened plate. The guard sailed backwards, his rifle still clutched in Mintara's other hand. Before the line of thugs could respond, he threw the rifle at the upper lounge where Aria spent most of her time while at the club. The weapon smashed into the window and shattered it, sending glass fragments cascading down onto the lower floor and showering the club goers beneath it who thought that watching what seemed to be the start of a gunfight. The thugs responded with raised weapons and trigger fingers which were more than ready to eliminate the target before them.

"Aria! We can continue with this, and your guards can die, your club can be decimated and you can talk to us _after_ all that, or you can just speak to us now! Your choice!" Mintara called as Vox and Taziz walked up beside the Omega, Vox's revolver out and aimed, Taziz's rifle shouldered, and both of them staring down a dozen gun muzzles. Neither of the males considered any outcome but victory despite the disparity of force. Mintara didn't even concern himself with the guards surrounding them, he kept his gaze looking up at the lounge, a casual smile on his face.

"Min…I have six shots and twelve targets…" Vox muttered under his breath, his chrome revolver wavering slowly between targets, his eyes focusing on each in turn. Beside him, Taziz looked back, the reassuring weight of his reliable M-8 rifle calming him as his own sight picture darted back and forth across the guards behind them. The Aslan had no doubt that a 7mm armor piercing round would cut down any of the guards, his only concern was that he might get eight before the other four took him down…and that was bad form. But Mintara ignored all of it, merely smiling more broadly as the target of his arrival here on Omega stepped forward and gazed down at him darkly.

"You know how to make an entrance." Aria called down darkly, her eyes filled with malevolence as she took in the sight of three beings standing in her club, weapons drawn and clearly not willing to be escorted out of the club and shot.

"I try Ms. T'Loak. I try. Now, will you discuss my proposal?" Mintara asked, smiling as widely as if he were merely a schoolboy who'd gotten away with something he knew he shouldn't have.

"You do, but it would seem you have me at a disadvantage. I'll speak to you, if only because I grow tired of having random thugs bleed all over my club." Aria called and gestured for the Omega agent to follow. The guards looked at the unofficial ruler of Omega and parted, weapons still aimed at the trio, but now leaving them to walk through the club and meet with the woman herself. Mintara walked along idly, not bothering to look at the guards or even address the weapons aimed at him. Vox and Taziz followed, their own weapons still out and ready, both of them not too eager to trust a crime lord or her hirelings. As they made their way up the stairs, the guards followed them, still not keen to let anyone this…flagrant into Aria's presence without having a large number of weapons aimed in their direction.

"Now…just who the hell do you think you are?" Aria said darkly, looking down on the trio as they stood on the landing below her lounge. It was clear that while she might be willing to talk, she was far from willing to be civil. The Asari Crimelord looked like she would be willing to tear all three of them apart with her biotics at the slightest provocation, but Mintara merely smiled and bowed slightly to her.

"A pleasure to meet you Ms. T'Loak. I think I'm Mintara Olnyx, my colleagues are Vox Reekan and Taziz. We were hoping that you could help us with something." Mintara said idly.

"You've got a damn funny way of asking for a favor." Aria said, glaring down at them.

"Well, you wouldn't have seen us unless we got your attention, and such lovely attention it is too." Mintara said with a gesture around at the guards surrounding them.

"I don't know you, and I don't like that." She said, standing with her arms crossed.

"Prudent woman." Vox muttered.

"More than that human, much more. You three picked a way to impress that will more than likely result in getting killed, an end result that you still haven't ruled out." Aria said.

"Well then Aria, might I call you Aria? We have a proposal, we need information…very…important information." Mintara said, his voice sounding about as pleasant as a used air-car salesman's.

"I'm not some info broker, talk to one of them if you want current events, or just wander around Omega, I'm sure that you'll find plenty of things worth being talked about." Aria said sarcastically.

"Ah, but if I could do that do you think I'd be here? You know who I am and who I work for, if I needed something akin to simple gossip, I wouldn't be here." Mintara said with a smile, and knew that the implication would be enough to push Aria further into anger.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't enjoy that." Aria shot back and Mintara's smile changed to almost devilish satisfaction.

"Oh, I'm sure you could enjoy a lot of things with me Aria. But I suppose who I'm with would bring you more pleasure at the moment than other things." Mintara said slyly.

"Do tell then."

"I'll just say that I make the Spectres look like cub scouts." Mintara said and his tone changed dramatically with the words. The playful and almost juvenile teasing that he had been filling his speech with was gone, instead it was a hard and deadly edge that was sharp enough to cut. Without a doubt, the voice that had come from Mintara's lips was one of a dangerous being, a professional killer, and a competent agent, someone who could slip in and out of demeanor as easily as pulling on a coat. Aria's eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, not in anger but in understanding.

"I assumed that much human, but just who are you working for? I'd assume something in the Alliance just like the Spectres…probably making that Black Legion drone next to you a close second…and if I had to venture a guess, the mad cleric downstairs would be the same? I know that the baseball fan with the revolver is an Alliance Marshall…so there's no doubt you work for the upstart threat to the Citadel that the Council is so concerned with. A nice and tidy little combat team…but just what is the _name _of your organization I wonder?" Aria replied, looking down at them with crossed arms.

"Omega. Simple…but of course, now I need to kill you." Mintara said with a chuckle, and the words were barely out of his mouth when Aria's guards raised their weapons sharply, the only thing that kept them from opening fire was the laugh that filled the air from Aria.

"You have balls I'll give you that much Human." She said darkly.

"I do try, but now will you answer my question since I answered yours?" Mintara said, the 'oh poor me' tenor to his voice making Aria snort.

"You can cut the act Human, it degrades us both. What do you want?" Aria said, and for the first time, her tone was businesslike. She stepped away from the top of the stairs and sat down on the leather couch, looking at Mintara expectantly. With out hesitating, Mintara walked up the stairs and sat himself on the leather couch as well, looking at Aria without bothering himself to gaze at the weapons tracking him.

"Well, I'm looking for someone called the Shadow Broker. I thought that in a place like this, the person who could direct me in the Broker's direction would be you." Mintara replied.

"Why should I tell you anything about the Broker, Human? He's one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy. You think I'm stupid enough to cross him?" Aria responded to the Omega's words. Mintara laughed sharply and gazed at her with a smile on his face.

"Since when are you afraid of anyone Aria? I did my homework, you rule this station. You're not foolish enough to cross the Shadow Broker, but you're not his servant, or someone in fear of him." Mintara chuckled as Aria stared idly off into the air, not making eye contact with the human.

"I am Omega, human, and I don't fear the Broker, but I'm not stupid enough to start a fight with the Broker." Aria said grimly.

"If the Shadow Broker is anything close to what the Alliance Intelligence Service thinks he is, his strength is knowledge, not armies or fleets. Not exactly the most dangerous threat in the galaxy." Mintara said dismissively.

"Don't be so arrogant that you think you can dismiss the Broker's power human. I would have thought that someone coming from a species with your history of warfare would recognize the advantages of knowledge, knowing something about everyone in the Galaxy is without question a potent advantage."

"Maybe, but you're not his servant, now are you? I want to meet with him because he's trying to pawn that knowledge off for reasons that I'm none to happy about." Mintara said, draping his arms over the backrest of the couch he sat upon, a gesture of complete openness, and complete disdain for the danger of numerous weapons leveled at him.

"And what are those, human?"

"He's toying with the Systems Alliance. We're not his pawns, and we're certainly not going to be jumping at shadows cast by a faceless power. I want answers, and I want to know just why Tela Vasir was sent to give a rather cryptic message. I want the truth about this. Nobody drops information from someone that prominent without having a purpose."

"What makes you so sure that the Broker had anything to do with that? Vasir's a Spectre, remember?" Aria asked.

"Simple, the Citadel's not stupid." Mintara responded with a smirk.

"The Citadel is many things, but I would never discount that. If you want the Broker, you'll have to take it all the way to the top, or at least far enough up the chain to make sure that you scare him. If you don't…you're as good as dead. The Broker might not have an Army, but he is cunning, ruthless, and can make your life into a hell beyond reckoning if you bother him. I'm at least forgiving enough to know that you're more useful alive and shooting at someone else rather than dead and bleeding all over my floor." Aria said with a vicious smile.

"I appreciate your reasoning." Mintara said, a dangerous smile rising to his own lips. There was no doubt that both were predators in their own way. Aria was a force to be reckoned with, and she held the upper hand, but Mintara was not cowed by the force surrounding him, or the implication that she would kill him easily. Sometimes disdain for your opponent's strength was a powerful message on it's own, and when you weren't even trying to kill anyone…it was a very sinister message at that.

Mintara's message was '_I could kill you, and you couldn't stop me._' Aria's was simply, '_I could kill you, but I don't feel like it._' To the guards watching and to Vox and Taziz, it was hard to decide which unspoken challenge held more menace, or which was more likely to come true, either way, it was not fun standing with weapons drawn and holding one's breath waiting for the shooting to start.

"The only Shadow Broker Contact on Omega that is reasonably well known is Bazzriak a Salarian in the Munz district. If you want to start working up the chain, then start with him. But don't be surprised if the trail dies. He's no fool, and the Shadow Broker goes to great pains to keep his pawns ignorant of his true identity." Aria replied, breaking the duel of unspoken threats.

"Why let him alive? I didn't take you for the type to be timid." Mintara said, standing up and starting to leave.

"As you humans say, 'better the devil you know than the devil you don't'." Aria replied darkly.

"Same reason you've decided to let me live I take it." Mintara said, walking down the stairs to rejoin Vox and Taziz.

"Exactly, if you come back here, my guards know just who to gun down." Aria said, managing the last word before the trio were escorted out of the Club and back to the Streets of Omega, the first rung of their ladder ready to be climbed.

* * *

><p><strong>The Terminus Systems, Unknown Location, August 8<strong>**th**

It had been…

…days…

…maybe…

Time stops meaning anything after you're sealed in a chamber for too long. No night or day, nothing to break the monotony but a meal once a day. Simply sitting on a simply cot and waiting. For many prisoners, the monotony was broken by exercises, constant, unending exercise. Push ups using a bed, pull ups off of a leg once the bed was flipped, jogging in place for hours. The constant repetitive physical activity to relive the stress that grew with every second, stress from not knowing who was holding you or why that was mirrored by the boredom that expanded exponentially. Boredom and inactivity were the true tortures of prison life. For most convicts, the monotony was filled…but for someone like Professor Wst, such caged inactivity was unusual. Of course, he was used to being isolated from other beings. As a Vegan, physical isolation from other more physically 'conventional' species was common, as a researcher, long hours and dull processes were the norm.

But to be isolated and alone with one's own mind, with one's own thoughts, it was a torment that was not easily understood. For Wst, his brain had filled the time with theories and theoretical exercises, using the time like any other idleness. Thoughts and ideas swirled inside his brain ever since he'd been thrown in the cell by the Eclipse mercenaries after his capture on Ilium. It was not a great hardship, but slowly, the true torture began to set in.

One can think too much…and when the only way to record those thoughts and ideas is within your own memories…you can begin to forget. Ideas and theories can blend together, equations and formulae can slowly warp and twist to gibberish. Once cohesive thoughts began to jumble, and the worst part was that it wasn't from psychosis or a weak mind…it was the product of a brilliant one. Wst knew it well, understanding just what was happening, and loathing the brilliance of his captors. They were willing to sit there and wait for him to begin to lose his confidence, his composure, his strength…He knew it was working when he had tried to use one of his eating utensils to scratch marks in the walls, but failed as the soft eating implement merely curled in his tendrils…it was the kind used in mental institutions and prisons so that you couldn't harm anything with it other than your pasta.

But Wst's attempt to scrawl on the walls had been…days?…before. He couldn't tell, he'd tried counting seconds, but that was no solution, he'd tried counting meal periods, but those varied immensely. He tried to measure sleeps, but those had become more common at times, sometimes he only slept for what felt like moments. He theorized he was being watched, but he had found nothing in the featureless room, the black walls betrayed no camera, the slot that food was slid in through was mere inches tall and he could see nothing on the other side. He heard no sounds, merely silence in the air, not even footsteps on the other side of the door as food was slid in.

To those watching the Professor inside his cell, they were checking off his actions one by one, making note of how they matched the 'usual' reaction to this technique. It would have surprised the Vegan that his Turian observers were using a Human designed interrogation preparation technique that had been made centuries before. Made by a power that no longer existed on Earth, it did not bother the Turians that there was no Soviet Union to appreciate their diligent observance of the techniques the KGB developed. All that mattered to the pair of former C-Sec operatives was that the Vegan was developing along the lines that they desired. Each of the steps which the Vegan only tentatively had registered had been marked precisely and catalogued. Even the low murmuring and words that the Vegan Professor was unaware he was speaking were recorded. In another chamber, notes were being made from those murmured words, recordings and transcripts, all of the work being done by VI programs, the more important segments examined by a former Specialist in the Salarian Intelligence Service.

But for the Vegan sitting inside a featureless room, there was little appreciation of the number of talented professionals hanging on his every rambling word. Merely problems and solutions that danced in his mind to taunt him as they vanished into oblivion. It was the morning of the 31st day that the isolation was interrupted by something more than the scraping sound of a food tray.

At first, the figure stepping into the chamber merely stepped in through the hatch and stood there, looking down at the Vegan scientist without speaking a word. The cloak draped over the new arrival's body alleviated any trace of gender or identity of species, let alone betraying an identity. Merely a hooded figure standing and gazing down with a face obscured by shadow stood watching him. The Vegan slowly focused his eyes on the figure standing over him and seemed torn whether it was another slip in his grip on reality. After a moment's hesitation, Professor Wst finally straightened and sat up.

"Interesting…" Wst said at last, his eye hood drifting up and down to examine the figure before him. His Tendrils interlaced nervously, curling together as the scientist worked to acclimate himself to an actual person for the first time in almost a month. The Vegan's attention drifted to the closed door, taking in the lack of guards and then looking back to the figure.

"Professor, I hope you have been…preoccupied." The figure said quietly, but instead of Alliance 'Standard', or a translation provided to him through his aural implant, he heard the perfectly articulated words in the singsong tones of the Vegan language.

"You could…say that…" Wst said grimly, his voice shifting slightly. He was guarded enough to try and anchor his mind against the ebb and flow of his own thoughts. It helped that something tangible was there to hold his interest. Wst tried to peer into the depths of the figure's hood, but could only find blackness.

"There are certain…things that must be done Professor, as distasteful as they may be. You haven't been subjected to any more invasive measures, I think you can be thankful for that." The figure said in it's perfect rendition of Vegan. Wst couldn't tell if it was a translation device or the figure's actual voice speaking to him, Vegan was not an easy language for a non-vegan to speak simply because of the sheer complexity of a Vegan's voice box when set against a more conventional species.

"Yes…you could. What do you want from me? Why am I here?" Wst said.

"You jump right to the heart of the matter Professor, I can appreciate that."

"Why play games? I have little patience for that sort of cloak and dagger affair. You brought me here, what do you hope to gain from this?" Wst asked.

"That which you are filled with Professor, knowledge." The figure replied.

"Knowledge? You ask what I cannot give." Wst sighed.

"Oh but why do you think you need to remain silent? Do you think you'll escape from here? Or that you'll ever be free again?" The figure said, and the door to the chamber slid open silently. The figure turned and the unspoken instruction was readily apparent to Wst. The Vegan rose and followed the figure out of the chamber. The exhilaration of leaving his cell for the first time in over a month was enough to invigorate the Professor more than he'd felt in ages. His back straightened and his mind seemed to clear perceptibly. As he walked, he noted that there were no signs on any wall, merely featureless bulkheads and hatchways…a rather unusual lack of adornments, considering the sheer complexity of many modern starships and orbital facilities. Wst held up a tendril to the face of a hatch as they passed one, and felt the slight tacky sensation of adhesive that remained. The vegan let out a soft gurgle of revelation, and the beginnings of a realization of how elaborate the isolation and manipulation of him were…sadly for the Vegan professor, his wealth of knowledge was based around the secrets of the ethereal world of Physics and High Energy Sciences, not the more shrouded and confusing depths of the mind. He didn't know what his captors were attempting, merely that they were going to a great length to isolate him from anything that might give him knowledge of his situation.

"Don't be so surprised Professor, you're worth every bit of our efforts. Central to them in fact." The cloaked figure said without turning. Wst looked up and a soft warble of displeasure escaped his thorax.

"A psyker?" He said, using a term rougher than one would expect from a learned professor. The more disparaging comment escaping the professor was one that common criminals tended to use when talking about Police psionics, or when the testimony of a psycic during a mental warrant condemned one of their ilk to a prison cell. The cloaked figure turned and Wst was almost certain that there was a smile lurking behind the cowl of the cloak.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I am just very luck professor. Come. I wish you to see something compelling." The figure said and strode through one of the sealed doors which opened for them without pause. Wst hesitated, but the desolate nature of a hallway devoid of any markings subtly encouraged him to follow the only tangible source of information in this isolated chamber. As he stepped through the lock, it sealed behind him, leaving him standing in a viewing gallery that stared out into space through transparent aluminum windows. The cloaked figure was standing at the wall viewport, looking out into the black void. Wst glanced at the figure then out at what lay in the space beyond.

It was hard to see the object at first. Merely a dark form in what had to be either deep space or the shadow of a planet. Wst stepped closer to the window, leaning close to it as he gazed at what he was certain must be some kind of…sea creature?

But that was a thought of madness.

"It calls itself Sovereign Professor Wst. It is the last vessel of an immense and ancient fleet. A mind of incalculable complexity, and of awesome power. A sentient starship, a relic of a power that spanned the galaxy." The cloaked figure said as Wst peered out at the shadowed form of the craft hanging in space beyond the viewport. It looked like a massive creature that hung dead in the void of zero gravity. Something that had once been alive, but was now merely an empty void.

"What…what in the nine heavens is it…" Wst croaked weakly, awed and intimidated by the scope of what this thing was. From a distance, the size of a thing is difficult to judge in space. But Sovereign, this ship…_felt_ immense, even in the void.

"Knowledge. Knowledge beyond the wildest dreams of the most outlandish minds. It is a craft from a species that predates the Protheans Professor. Imagine the possibilities." The cloaked figure said, it's own voice filled with rapture at the prospect. Wst didn't answer immediately. Instead, he merely stood and watched the massive sentient vessel hanging in space before his eyes, wondering at who would have created it, who would have built such a craft…and what had happened to them. Not just them…but how many other species and civilizations could it comment on? Pre-dating the Protheans made it tens of thousands of years old.

"Why me? I'm not an archaeologist. I'm a physicist." Wst finally said, the intellectual curiosity becoming once more overshadowed by the simple fact that he was a prisoner who had been kidnapped at gunpoint and at the cost of many lives. He had no choice, and he was completely at the whim of this captor.

"It is because you are a physicist professor, you hold knowledge that may be the vital key to unlocking this great secret. That is not a ruined city or a desolate heap of stones on some obscure world. It's a starship! A vessel of untold power and of immense capabilities. A thinking reasoning mind is locked within it Professor Wst, that mind holds a ship for a body, and that ship is ancient. If we can save that ship and breathe life into it once more, we can learn countless secrets that have been lost to the ages!" The cloaked figure said passionately. The tones and inflections of the vegan language were coming across with almost exquisite perfection, the kind of perfect speech that was only attained by charismatic politicians and by mechanical enhancements. Either way, it had the opposite effect on him that the speaker had probably desired. The impassioned plea for knowledge was perfectly set to ignite the passion of learning in the heart of any intellectual, or the innate curiosity that so many held in their hearts. In another place, another circumstance, Wst would have leapt at the chance like a male leaping into the arms of the first female who would accept his seed.

But not here, not now…

"If you truly think me a fool, then I shall be in my cell until you tire of your games." Wst said and turned away from the window theatrically, looking back at blank walls and a sealed hatch. Beside him the cloaked figure let out a warble of discontent at the Vegan's dismissal of it's impassioned words.

"A pity that you aren't willing to assist us yet Professor. Of course, you will see our way of things in time. I know that for a fact. But I would have preferred that you assist us willingly rather than being manipulated to help. I understand that the spark of innovation is stifled when coerced, no matter how subtly or overtly…the difference is negligible. A willing being is always more useful." The cloaked figure said and turned away from the window. The slight hesitation the figure let out another warble of displeasure and the hatch opened. Through it strode one of the yellow armored mercenaries who had acquired the professor on Ilium.

"Come with me Professor, your cell is waiting." The Asari mercenary said politely, but there was no room for negotiation with the armored female. For a moment, Wst contemplated hurling himself at her to be killed rather than return to the cell and the dancing thoughts that stood astride the realms of madness and genius. But he knew they wouldn't kill him, they needed him. With a shake of his eye hood in an imitation of the humanoid gesture, he followed the mercenary's command.

"Oh, professor. Something for you to consider…" The cloaked figure said and Wst turned to look at it.

"Yes?" He asked tentatively, looking at the hooded figure.

"Black Mercury." The figure said and turned. While the cloaked being missed the expression of surprise as the Vegan's eyehood flared and thorax mouth gaped, the observation devices caught the subtle moves and recorded them. Those who watched and studied the Professor examined these subtle details and made their notes on his reaction, every small piece of the puzzle putting them closer to the picture.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wst said flatly.

"Don't be so modest professor. You know all about it, don't you?" The figure said, still looking at Sovereign. It slowly turned in space, then halted, almost as if it were gazing into the window where the cloaked figure stood watching it. Slowly, the figure raised a hand to the viewport, placing it on the transparent aluminum and seeming to try and reach into the void towards the immense vessel. Wst was to horrified to notice the almost affectionate gesture. Instead, he remained silent and let himself be led out of the room, the thoughts of the Alliance's deadliest discovery playing through his mind, and wondering just what this mad being intended to do with it.

As Wst was returned to his cell, the cloaked figure remained standing, facing the viewport. It didn't turn as Saren stepped into the room, but it's cloak covered hand did fall away from the cold viewport and returned to cross it's arms together. Saren walked up to the figure and said nothing, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the immense form of Sovereign. Neither one spoke, merely marveling at the bulk of the vessel hanging there in space. A mind of incalculable complexity and unfathomable means locked within it. Though both were infatuated with the ship, both had differing views of what that mind could do.

"He won't help you in restoring the Elder thing. Will he?" Saren asked coldly, not looking over at the figure.

"No. Not yet. But your hirelings are rather confident that they will compel him to assist me in my task. He'll be of use in my plans." The figure said.

"You also know what they told you about the creativity and ability of a mind subsumed by coercion. It is never as adaptable or innovative as it's uncompelled state." Saren replied, his voice still as cold as the viewport before the two of them.

"I am well aware." The cloaked figure said, looking over at the Turian Spectre sharply.

"Your selection of a being capable of assisting you was flawless, but I feel that Sovereign must be involved." Saren said.

"No!" The figure said, aghast at the implication of bringing the ancient creature into contact with the doctor.

"If he must be indoctrinated for him to be of assistance, then so be it."

"I told you that ship's ability to manipulate minds transcends anything we know of Sentient thought. There is no telling what that creature could glean from his mind without our knowledge. Black Mercury is a dangerous enough trinket for us to try and peel from his mind. But what else lurks within the Vegan's thoughts? I do not like the idea of giving it access to the memories and mind of a being who knows more about high energy physics and mass effect sciences than half of the citadel's best and brightest." The cloaked figure said hotly.

"You would do well to remember who is in charge here Thal." Saren said sharply and the cloaked figure's demeanor seemed to deflate at the rebuke. The cold tone of Saren's words belied the threat that lurked behind them. Both of them knew how expendable to Saren's desires Thal was. No matter how much of a savant in Starship engineering and weapons design he was. Saren would kill him without a moment's hesitation if he became a detriment to his goals. The cloaked being shifted nervously.

"I…don't doubt that you're in charge Saren. But I doubt the wisdom in giving that creature the Vegan's mind to toy with." Thal said, and reached up to pull back the hood of his cloak, revealing the enviro suit mask of a Quarian glaring at Saren with barely restrained displeasure.

"If it's the only way to bring Sovereign back to it's true power, then so be it. It is a warship of colossal power, and without it's strength I fear that the Alliance will best the Citadel in any conflict. We _must_ have it Thal, without a doubt, we must not let it remain weak." Saren said fiercely.

"I know, and I will do everything within my power to bring it back to power. It is the single most important thing I can ever do for the galaxy." Thal said, and turned back to gaze at the ship, an almost religious devotion seemed to be embodied in the Quarian. Saren nodded slowly and left the engineer to gaze at his charge in silence. The Spectre ventured into the hallways of the ship and through blank passages. He walked with the utmost confidence, but passed no one. There was no one in this portion of the vessel, none wished to be too close to his private office aboard the converted cargo ship. Too many had felt his wrath when he was displeased. But there was no wrath today.

He entered his Spartan office and sat at the desk, looking at the wall vid display and the grotesque alien on it. The Reticulans were not pleasant creatures to look at, nor were they pleasant to be around. But they were of use to him. It was disconcerting to watch a Reticulan use a thrall to speak, but it was a rather necessary work around due to the creature's revulsion and borderline fear at touching his mind. That was something that both pleased and concerned him. Reticulans were willing to use any organic being for their own needs, but Saren was immune, due to his…'corruption'. He didn't dare think to much of it, instead he merely looked at the Reticulan on the screen and nodded, a voice that sounded like someone choking began to come through the speakers, more than likely a researcher being manipulated by one of the Reticulans.

"…the cure is proceeding as planned…Genophage is crude…easily identified…antidote is complex due to hormonal shifts and Krogan physiology. Genetic sub-typing and rapid mutation makes for retrovirus based cure non-viable. No unforeseen issues arising. We have been…encouraged…in our endeavor by latest samples. Show reset of Krogan hormonal stages…viable conception is attainable." The choking voice said from off screen as the Reticulan merely gazed into the monitor lifelessly. Saren heard the words being babbled to him, and only picked out what he needed to from the thrall's words. A viable treatment was close in coming, just what he needed.

"Acceptable. Continue with your activities." Saren said simply and cut the link. Whether it was dismissive of the Reticulans, they didn't seem to register any kind of resentment to him over it, well…nothing more than their ever constant actions to regard any form of life as being cattle for their own needs and activities. Saren simply ignored them, they'd been crushed by the Systems Alliance and were little more than barely capable creatures whose hive mind seemed to be clinging to something that kept the Alliance military standing atop them and not willing to let them rise once more. The Turian couldn't find any fault with the Alliance's treatment of the disgusting creatures. After all, the Reticulans had experimented on them for centuries and used them as little more than a combination of cattle and breeding stock. There was nothing lost in their destruction, if they had done the same to the Hierarchy, a simple genocide would have been in order. But the softness of the Alliance politicians kept them from doing what needed to be done with the Reticulans.

Just like it kept them from doing what needed to be done with the Krogan. The thought of the Krogan brought a smile to the Turian's face. The Krogan were savages, yes, brutal primitives, yes, but they were useful tools. Despite their declining numbers, they were not weak, not by any margin. The Alliance wished to 'civilize' them like they had 'civilized' their underlings and vassal states. They claimed that the Drow were happy, that the Aslan were content, that the Quarians were pleased, they tried to do the same to the Krogan, making them peaceful and productive members of the galaxy…members of the Alliance. But the sheer tenacious savagery of the Krogan made it impossible. But the Alliance and their pathetic ideals made them incapable of doing what needed to be done. Saren chuckled softly and tapped the desk. He had managed to do little to aid the Krogan's insurrection against the Alliance, they had done more on their own than he could ever have dreamed of.

A simple push could turn the occupation of Tuchanka into a nightmare that the Alliance military would never escape from until it was too late.

Saren leaned forward and tapped a control on his desk, the view on the wall changed from the vid's idle animation to a scene that had been appearing more and more across Alliance space. The craft that the screen showed was alien to the Spectres and matched no know ship types. But the Salarians said that it matched the design style of the elusive Collectors. Something that the Spectre found of great concern. The knowledge he possess of the Collectors went beyond the hearsay and supposition of the Citadel's intelligence services. From what the vessel Sovereign had told him of the enigmatic and elusive species…they were a deadly threat, far more of a threat than the Alliance could ever pose.

Saren stopped slowly, his hand moving back to his head.

_ …no…that wasn't right…was it?_

_ The Alliance…they were the threat…_

_ Or…wait…_

He shook his head slightly, the creeping pain in his forehead working at him. The constant headaches were becoming more and more bothersome. He had things to do and this did not help matters. Whatever threats existed, the Alliance had to be dealt with first and foremost. The Collectors were an annoyance, and given their proclivity to focus on the Alliance rather than the Citadel, it would be simplest to ignore them. The Alliance had to be dealt with, first and foremost, without question.

Saren closed his eyes and rubbed his hands across his face.

_So much to be done…so little time to do it… _He mused to himself as the headache subsided and he could focus again. With a motion he banished the image on the wall, the Collectors could wait. The Alliance…they were the true threat. If they were not dealt with then the Citadel would be in grave danger. They had to be eliminated at all costs.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Been quite a while folks, sorry for all that, but as they say, life is life, and interest in things waxes and wanes sadly, but interest in this has never left me for a day. A lot of my time off has been spent thinking about things, and this chapter has been worked on every week since the last, changing and editing and revising and mourning and cursing and smiling and whatever else you can do when you're writing.

Thanks to all my Patient fans, Thanks to all my impatient fans.

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><p><strong>Omega, Munz District, August 9<strong>**th****, 2171**

His name was Bazzriak, and according to what passed for records on the Citadel, he was rich, affluent and powerful…according to the records that the Citadel had, he was a drug runner, a slaver, and a general bad person, and according to Aria he was a part of the Shadow Broker's organization. On paper it all seemed so simple, elegant and direct, he was a bad person, he was useful and he was going to be captured for the information that the Omega team desperately needed. But in practice, the 'desperately needed' part was something that was getting hazier and hazier. Which was why rather than calling down a team of Black Legion Commandos to abscond with the Salarian and peel his mind for information…Mintara and Vox were standing on a street corner and generally looking casual.

"I'm surprised that you can find something like this on Omega. The place was always described as being a shit hole…" Vox muttered, glancing about the brightly lit and clean streets that were entirely out of place when you considered they were a short shuttle from slums.

"It feels like the Citadel, clean and brightly lit. But you can still feel the character here. It's not sterile and utopian. There's sleaze, but this is where the rich people like to live, and they pay good money for their protection, and their amenities." Mintara said, his voice speaking with the well traveled knowledge of an Alliance Marshal, someone who was as at home pulling thugs out of dive bars as they were serving warrants in financial districts. The streets were filled with pedestrians and boasted stores that looked far more upscale and refined, the kind that you'd expect to see in a Paris fashion district or a Montreal tech district. It didn't keep with the filthy stores and simple storefronts you'd find around Afterlife or the more traveled areas of the planetoid. As the pair of Omega agents watched, the reason for the security and safe display of wealth was readily apparent. A large armored speeder rolled down the middle of the avenue filled with Turians and Asari in combat armor with heavy weapons, their eyes glancing this way and that. Along with the overt display, there were more subtle touches, like guards in military style uniforms and body armor outside of each store and business, or pairs of marching mercenaries. The overwhelming display of force made it clear that while Aria liked to claim she ruled Omega, there were still those who did a swift business in their own segments.

"When is the team going to grab Bazzriak?" Mintara asked, his head tilting back to look at the apartment where they'd tracked the Salarian agent to.

"They're not." Vox replied succinctly and glanced over at his friend. The Alliance Marshal glanced back and his expression was expectant.

"Forgive me for the misunderstanding, but I had thought we were after him to make a point to the Shadow Broker and find out what is going on. Am I wrong?"

"We were. But that side tracks us from our objective. Something is going on, and the abduction of Professor Wst proves that something very dangerous is at play. That's the pattern we need to be concerned about, not the Broker." Vox replied, and lit a cigarette, his eyes looking up at Brazzriak's apartment.

"And what pattern is that?" Mintara asked.

"Technology. Or to put it simply, knowledge. There's been a massive upswing in information theft and technical theft in all aspects of Alliance technology, from the simplest genetically engineered foods to the most advanced weapons systems, there are people trying to learn everything they can about us."

"And by people you mean the Citadel Council."

"Or a proxy of theirs. It's good, but the fact that it's going on isn't exactly reassuring. We've been pushing the Citadel hard on every front, diplomatic relations with the Terminus systems, military relations with the Batarians, even economic expansion, so naturally they want to push back…but they've shown that they've gotten burned when they've tried to play games of intrigue with us…so why would they risk it?" Vox asked quietly.

"Because you get desperate for every advantage you can find. And we have a tech edge, they want to eliminate that advantage so they can bully us into a docile position like all the rest of the 'civilized' species in the galaxy." Mintara replied.

"Dangerous though. Most of these attacks have been caught and exposed, and many of them can be traced back to businesses, corporate espionage and regular information gathering. Nothing sinister or dangerous…except for the abduction of Professor Wst from Illium." Vox said.

"How so?"

"That was the only one that was successful. Whoever managed it grabbed one of the Alliance's leading experts on high energy physics, a field that the Citadel species are woefully primitive in. Plus…I've read the male's dossier, almost ninety percent of his work is classified at the Top Secret level, parts of it are even beyond codeword secure…but even more interesting, there are sections of his life that are blank. Not classified, not restricted, just blank. As if the information he was working on was so sensitive there was to be no record of it at all." Vox said.

"So all those failed attempts at information gathering weren't failed at all…" Mintara said, his eyes widening slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Most of them were a smoke screen, but all of them failed, failed to gather viable information, but I'm willing to bet that they all pointed to Wst as being a male with the knowledge they needed…but for what purpose is going to be where things get cloudy…" Mintara explained and Vox nodded slowly.

"I think we can forget about the Broker and his tips about Cerberus. That group is nothing but a pack of lunatics. This kidnapping is more dangerous."

"They've launched terror attacks across Alliance and Citadel space…" Mintara said warningly.

"Yes, and terrorism can't bring down governments, the purpose of Terrorism is to terrorize as Lenin put it so succinctly. The only thing that Cerberus is doing is killing people and making the headlines for about an hour. People are so numb to news that a terrorist bombing or shooting is striking, but they don't care. The Security Service is more than capable of crushing them and if, _if_ there's a real between Cerberus and the Citadel, we'll find it…but as far as I'm concerned, they're a group of lunatics who need to be crushed by someone else." Vox replied.

"So then what's the plan?"

"We forget about Cerberus, we forget about the Shadow Broker, and we forget about Omega, I'm not keen on following the words of a Council Spectre working for an information dealer. We're going to Ilium to find out just who the hell stole a Vegan scientist." Vox said, stepping away from the wall and striding down the street. Mintara followed along, casting one last glance at the Salarian's apartment, and was rewarded with the perfect view of the explosion that blew out the walls in a shower of metal and stone façade. Mintara froze as everyone on the street began to scream and run from the falling debris. Ahead of him Vox didn't pause, didn't even look.

"What the hell was that?" Mintara screamed to his friend, and Vox turned to look back at the Alliance Marshal.

"We don't have time to fiddle with the Shadow Broker, but we did have time to send a message. We can kill any one of his operatives, and we can get him if we so chose." Vox said, and kept walking, his leather duster jacket flowing behind him as he strode along.

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><p><strong>The Citadel, August 9<strong>**th****, 2171**

Councilor Hillardan's office on the Citadel was one that you would expect for a member of the Triumvirate that 'ruled' the civilized galaxy. Blessed with a view of the Wards and the nebula, it was fitted and laid out with decidedly gorgeous artifacts from the Homeworlds, everything from rare antiques to pieces of fine craftsmanship. It spoke of luxury, and of wealth beyond measure…things that you needed to display in great prominence when you met with beings on this level. Only the most affluent and influential saw this office, not the 'common folk' of the galaxy. Those people expected a certain level of décor and taste when they came to meet a Councilor. Hillardan knew that Tevos and Valern had similar displays of decadence in their own offices, but for quite different reasons. Hillardan's people knew about politics and posturing, when you came from a species whose entire ruling class was an interlaced web of marriages and loyalties based upon birth and blood lines, when politics was as common as eating and sleeping, you learned the tricks. A display of decadence was one of those tricks. Something to over-awe and over stimulate, yet not to be basked in, to do so would be as dangerous to one's political ability as breathing vacuum.

For Tevos and Valern, their decadent offices were those they sat in, looking about and admiring the trappings of power. Valern of course didn't see it as being rewarded per se, but for a Turian, recognizing the 'rewards of duty' was an unavoidable…indulgence. Tevos was more…aristocratic about things…and that was something that gave Hillardan no small amount of mirth when he thought about it. The Asari viewed the adornments of her office as trophies, displays that spoke to her not in the words of luxury or wealth, but trophies that in her eyes testified to the power and strength she held in the galaxy. It was ironic to think along those lines, but of the three, Hillardan was the most dedicated _servant_ on the Council. His appointment to the Council had been a decision based in politics, but he hadn't campaigned or fought for the position, he had been selected as the best candidate. Valern's appointment was much along the same lines, he had been selected as the best person to represent the Hierarchy…to most outside observers, you could look at the Turian system and hold it up as a shining example of a meritocracy, Turian civic mindedness overcoming the paltry selfishness so rampant in other species…_that _thought was enough to make Hillardan laugh aloud in the confines of his office.

No species was a hundred percent perfect, far from it. No species could be boiled down to one trait without putting a very large number of exemptions to it. The STG knew that Turians could be just as corrupt as any other species, and the worst part about them was the good ones didn't think that there were any bad ones. Of course, when you couldn't tell the rotten fruit from the good, your meal could be a very unpleasant affair. The Salarian Councilor was not willing to toss out Valern's competence and ability so quickly, he was a good and honest Turian, and he was better than many office holders who'd resided in that post over the years. But when you sat there and believed that he was better than _most_ you couldn't help but wonder who was the _best_. Sadly, for Hillardan, he knew that Valern was a military man, and focused on military solutions to problems. And without a doubt the biggest 'problem' that the Citadel faced was the Systems Alliance. Between the two other members of the Council's Triumvirate, Hillardan was very much inclined to consider Valern the better of the two.

Tevos was…different than she had been centuries before. At least that is what the STG had reported in it's psychological profiles, and the highly detailed reports that his predecessors had made on her throughout the centuries. Hillardan had information on just about every open and private decision the Asari had made throughout her tenure on the Council. From her first days to her most recent trials, the STG knew it all…and despite the shortness of the Salarian lifespan, their people could take the long view on matters, the _very_ long view on matters when it came to the most important. Innumerable generations of Salarians had lived and died under the Citadel's leadership, and without question, it was the single most important facet of the Galaxy…Tevos, it's longest lived member. Considered by most to be one of the most reasonable, intelligent, and diplomatic members to ever hold seat on the Council.

Hillardan ran his hands gently over one another, idly examining his train of thought, taking a few moments to consider just what he was considering. This wasn't exactly the reason that he'd decided to sit in this decadent office, but the idle wanderings of his mind had come back to the crux of the matter that had been building in his own subconscious for months, and in the minds of a growing portion of the 'Asari action committee' of the Special Tasks Group. Hillardan's continuous concern for his other council members had peaked the interest of the intelligence community…leading it to devote more resources than ever before on spying on it's allies and fellow council members. The Salarian Councilor was not entirely pleased with that development, one should trust one's friends more than one's enemies. Show too little trust, and your friends _become_ your enemies whether they wish it or not. But the information that the STG had turned up on the Asari Republics and their clandestine operations was become a matter of interest. Too many Asari Commandos were fighting on Tuchanka of all places. Weapons shipments were being moved throughout Alliance and Batarian space by Commandos…and some Asari Spectres were thought to be operating with them. Of course, Spectres had their own areas of operations, they could make their own decisions and Batarian Space _was_ Citadel Space despite their growing warmth with the Systems Alliance, and the Asari Commandos were mercenaries in many cases.

Hillardan sighed softly and shook his head. He had been devoting far more of his energies looking for patterns like an intelligence agent than he had been in exercising his duties of office. He rubbed his face gently and forced himself to put the thoughts aside. Nihlus was doing his job and working to run down the Asari connections on Tuchanka, and he'd produced some rather intriguing results, and those results were what had brought him into this office for this meeting with one of the newer and more talented members of the STG. The Tuchanka situation was disturbing enough, but combining the information that Nihlus had presented with the confidential reports he'd received from the STG it had compelled him to speak with the STG directly, and _without _Councilor Valern who was technically responsible for Galactic Peacekeeping.

The duplicity of having to worry about a rising threat to the galaxy _and_ the possibility that the Turians might not consider it a threat was something that Hillardan had more than once sat up at night and shivered over. The balance of galactic peace was a fragile thing that could be shattered at any moment…releasing the horror of war upon every sentient being, the Turians kept it in check with weapons, the Salarians kept it in check with deceit, and the Asari kept it in check with words. But now, the STG said that an ancient foe could be rising again at the provocation of an as yet unknown manipulator, and the only force that Hillardan could consider willing to stop it was the Alliance Military. He sighed again and straightened up, the soft chime of his Omni tool letting him know that his appointment was here.

Mordin Solus was brilliant.

It was hard to describe the savant as anything but an immeasurable intellectual. His very being seemed to exude it as readily as he breathed, and for Hillardan, it was clear that he was faster thinking than the average Salarian. The Doctor strode into the office brusquely without so much as a comment, and his demeanor made it clear that without a doubt he would rather be elsewhere, preferably a laboratory or somewhere that he could actually be doing _something_. Even the look in his eyes seemed to show that he was none to pleased that he was sitting before a political layman who was best known for standing with two others and making paltry decisions rather than actually accomplishing something. Hillardan smiled softly at the intriguing display and the sheer simplicity of the younger male's demeanor. He'd never seen such difference from the male so casually sitting across from him, looking at a Citadel Councilor with _annoyance._

"Councilor. I am Dr. Mordin Solus, Special Tasks Group. Here at your request for information on Krogan Birthrate deviations, correct?" The scientist said quickly, his eyes focused in on the Councilor without blinking or looking away. Hillardan kept smiling and nodded silently, his hands taping idly on his desk top for a moment and watching the palpable shift in the other Salarian's mood at being made to wait, even for a few seconds. A moment before he spoke, Hillardan beat him to the punch.

"I'm glad you could make time for me in your busy schedule Doctor. I've been told by the STG that you are among the best, surprising for one so young." The politician said, stroking the younger male's ego slightly before beginning the particulars.

"Not one of the best, the best. If familiar with the STG's research on Tuchanka and the Genophage. I am the foremost authority on the subject." Solus replied tersely, seemingly resisting the urge to draw up examples of his own brilliance on his Omni tool or begin listing credentials.

"Surprising for someone who has never been to the planet itself…but one doesn't always need to see the faces of one's…patients." Hillardan said, his voice slightly lower than before, it was a soft jab. Not intended to provoke an angry response, but simply one to garner a bearing on the young male's views of what he was doing. The STG maintained extensive files on it's agents, and tended to examine them at length for any possible 'conflicts' with what they might be called upon to do. It was redundant for Hillardan to try to prod the younger male into a reaction, but sometimes you had to see things for yourself. The expression on Solus's face didn't shift at all.

"Not necessary. My work is primarily technical, not sociological. Don't need to visit the planet for that." Solus replied without a thought, a dismissive wave of his hand underscoring his contempt for the idea. Hillardan dropped the point at that, a slightly placating nod to the younger Scientist.

"Indeed, a true enough statement, but tell me about the…discrepancies that have been recovered from Tuchanka." Hillardan said, segueing to the heart of the matter. Solus nodded and lifted his display tablet, handing it across the desk to the Councilor's outstretched hand. Notations and marks covered the document that glowed on the screen.

"Small deviations, but consistent with an upward trend. Without a doubt, the Krogan are gradually increasing in numbers. This despite the effects of near open warfare with the Systems Alliance." Solus said, his gaze watching Councilor Hillardan as he read down the reader, while the information in the document wasn't new, the notations that Solus had made were. Subtle hints, subtle clues, all of which were within the limits of statistical variations, but put together…

"I'm surprised you noticed it Doctor Solus." Hillardan said, handing the reader back to the Scientist.

"Simple enough to catch. I studied the Genophage extensively. Besides, Alliance kill ratios should show negative trend in Krogan population, not positive. Analysts see what they want to see…especially when they possess the information to support their suppositions." Solus said, his words exemplifying one of the intrinsic flaws that intelligence agencies had faced throughout history. Hillardan sighed softly.

"I…see…" The Councilor said, not at all prepared for that little revelation, his own thoughts racing.

"An, unforeseen event as it were." Solus said, his gaze fixed on the Councilor when the older Salarian's head came back up.

"Do you know anything more…specific about the situation?"

"Krogan numbers are increasing. Cause unknown, rate unknown. Can't give you that answer without more research." Solus said idly, looking back down at his data reader, clearly displeased with the mystery that he couldn't unravel. Hillardan nodded slightly at that, his mind working slowly over the looming issue and filing it away with all the other concerns that he'd had weighing heavily on his mind. For a long moment he wondered what Nihlus' latest puzzle piece was…piled on top of all the others, Hillardan felt his head began to throb lightly.

"Councilor?" Solus asked, the young scientist looking slightly concerned at the politician's visible discomfort.

"I'm fine…" Hillardan said and rose from his chair and walking around the desk to escort Solus from the room. "…Doctor Solus, I believe that this issue requires further examination. I require you to take the lead on this."

"What do you mean? Fieldwork?" Solus said, surprised enough to bring the younger male up short as he rose up from his chair.

"You're the specialist, and I'd have to say you're a rather gifted analyst along with being a brilliant researcher. I believe you should work on examining this situation in greater detail Doctor Solus." Hillardan said, guiding the scientist towards the door.

"…your…confidence will not be misplaced Councilor." Solus managed as Hillardan escorted him to the door of his office, taking the younger male's hand in a gesture far more common to humans than it was to Salarians, Solus hesitated at the moment and then simply nodded. Councilor Hillardan nodded back, letting his hand fall slightly, perhaps the gesture was too egalitarian for most Salarians. He smiled at the younger researcher.

"I know it won't Doctor Solus, you're a gifted mind and I expect great things of you. Perhaps you'll be more than just a great mind." Hillardan said, gesturing the Doctor out the door. As the door slid shut, he regretted not telling Solus that his supposition and discovery had confirmed something terrible. The Genophage cure that Sederis had been offering the Krogan wasn't a lie, despite what the Warlord had thought, it really was working, and the Krogan really were breeding…distressing. Hillardan sat down heavily behind his desk and ran his hands across his head gently, cradling it ever so slightly as he worried over the myriad problems that seemed to be growing in the galaxy.

Warlords were gaining power in the Terminus Systems whose political ideologies caused the Council some concern, some pro-Alliance, some malevolent neutrals…a disturbing power shift that had compelled the Turians to re-examine their force dispositions. Even if they were simply opportunists who were flocking to a power that could give them advanced technology, and didn't like the Council, it was a worry. Politics made strange bedfellows, and while the Alliance was an avowed supporter of the ideals of free democracy and representative government, they had made it clear that they were not above working with groups whose politics were completely contrary to that. The Alliance had begun to show itself as a power eager to gain any advantage…but then that political proclivity had been shown by their willingness to buy Batarian support, even if they were little more than galactic thugs. Political Theater or not, that one action had done more for the Alliance's effort to gain leverage against the Council than a thousand years of benevolent rule had earned the Council.

Older members of the Citadel pressing slowly but surely for more equal representation with the Council. Political maneuverings that had stretched across dozens of newer species that the Alliance had discovered, upsetting the expected way of doing things more than anything, and driven the old leadership of the Citadel to become more aggressive. Mercenary groups and pirates that seemed to be supported by _someone_ launching attacks and raids against Alliance Territory from within Citadel Space. Those and so many more problems rising, every one seemed to square the Citadel against the Alliance. Every one seemed to be perfectly designed to escalate tensions, place each galactic power against one another. Something was happening

With a heavy sigh, he reached out and touched one of the concealed control studs on his desk, opening a com line.

"Councilor Valern, I have some disturbing news that I need to discuss in person…" Hillardan said tiredly, his eyes falling upon the small data reader that held his own copy of Solus' report.

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><p><strong>Moscow, August 15<strong>**th**

The view from the top floors of Lubyanka hadn't changed much in centuries. Of course, the march of time and the march of technology and development had added many new additions to the skyline of a city that had withstood the march of armies and ideologies. You couldn't affect that with bricks and mortar, or dura-steel and synthetic glass. Every structure of the city seemed to be imbued with a history, a legacy of days gone by that was filled with the whispers of ghosts. The Kremlin, Red Square, St Basils Cathedral, so many others that were synonymous with the city. None of them could rival the infamy of this one though, if speaking of ghosts was hyperbole elsewhere, they held the greatest chance of being tangible within the walls of this infamous structure. Almost two centuries before, the residents of Moscow had joked darkly that Lubyanka was the tallest building, you could see Siberia from the basement. But the interrogation cells had slowly been moved, offices had replaced them, and like all things when faced with the march of time, changed.

The end of the not-war that had made the occupants of this building so terribly feared ended…and a great empire fallen with it. The KGB ceased to be, and time marched on, the building that had been host to an organization whose mention could still bring forth a chill, at least to those who knew. Director Vissara had often wondered just why the Alliance had decided to place the headquarters of it's own intelligence service in a building with such a sordid history. She couldn't blame them for their foresight, anyone who knew anything about the history of the humans home-world would understand the intention…but intentions and results were always such difficult things to achieve. When it came to galactic politics, sometimes you received a result radically different from the one you were hoping for. Director Vissara was one of them. A recent political appointee by the President, her place hadn't come because of political maneuvering…at least on her part. Her elegant demeanor, beauty, and disdain for all males marked the reason that she was occupying a seat in the office once held by Beria and Iron Felix.

"What do you think of the City, Director?" Representative Hitch asked with a smile. He was standing casually in the doorway to the office, an un-announced arrival to the room that led Director Vissara to look up from the scrolling holo in annoyance that shifted to the icy disdain that Drow females seemed to direct towards anything male. The head of the Alliance Parliament's Intelligence oversight committee stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him as he walked across the rich carpet and looked idly around the office as if he had never had a chance to glimpse at it. Vissara's violet eyes followed him as he strode across the office and settled himself down into the leather chair that sat before the elegant birch wood desk.

"Impressive." Vissara said acidly, and Hitch smiled in response to the tone that graced his ears. He looked back at the Drow female and leaned back in his chair.

"Glad that you enjoy your new posting, I would be so very disappointed if you were uncomfortable here on Earth. But of course, your kind aren't very comfortable with forty-nine percent of the Human Species." Representative Hitch said, the words 'your kind' laced with more than a small modicum of disgust. Director Vissara looked at the politician and smiled venomously.

"Tell me Representative, do you study history?" Vissara asked, her voice oddly even as she regarded the human politician across from her with something approaching contempt. The Politician smiled in response, reveling in the intrinsic Drow disgust with anything male. Vissara knew that this creature's arrival was meant to instill contempt, and to remind her of her place in the greater scheme of the Alliance.

"Whose? Yours? Ours?" Hitch asked, choosing his words with practiced aplomb, although unlike the spur of the moment reactions to interviews and 'spontaneous' meetings with constituents, these words were chosen to provoke, not soothe.

"Your own of course Representative, your history…it is quite, colorful, isn't it? Yet it's quite short. We Drow had a civilization for twenty thousand years. Twenty millennia, and it was organized, prosperous and developed. Our people created great works of culture, art, and science. In many ways, you could consider us to be superior in almost every aspect. We have traditions that date back to before the very rise of your most primitive cultures. Yet…you were better in one respect…" Vissara said softly, her words punctuated with a smile that seemed to have put Hitch on his guard.

"And what is that?" Hitch asked, brushing at his lapel idly to reinforce the sense of disdain that he enjoyed conveying to the Director.

"War. Your Species sole preoccupation for the past ten thousand years has been war. You're fantastically good at it, you've fought conflicts that consumed millions of lives, waged wars that lasted for centuries. You're obsessed with conflict, and you've been driven by conflict so…readily, and the memories of those conflicts have etched into your popular consciousness more heavily than anything else." Vissara said, nodding to the window in the direction of the Kremlin. "Russian newly-weds still lay flowers at Mogila Neizvestnova Soldata, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. A memorial to soldiers who fought in a war over two centuries and three governments ago. I've seen your Arlington Cemetery in Washington, the great peace memorial in Jerusalem…so many others that your species has erected to celebrate the end to your conflicts and memorialize your dead. Most of them aren't viewed as passionately…but your history is littered with war."

"Your point Director?" Hitch said tiredly.

"You're barbarians who merely got lucky, Representative. Warmongering, violent barbarians who are as subtle and cunning as a ferrous iron asteroid slamming into a Garden World. The Citadel Council is right to fear you and react to your existence with terror, especially since you refuse to be tamed by the galaxy at large." Vissara said sweetly as Hitch's face shifted further towards fury with every syllable the Drow spoke.

"Barbarians? Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. Any being with half a brain can see through your foreign policy, after all, I'm sitting here aren't I?" Vissara said, her lips smiling in amusement with the Politician's anger.

"I remind you Director…" Hitch said, his eyes widening slightly. Even in this office, shielded from outside sensors and as secure as any space within Alliance Space could be, the mention of the agreement with the Drow was enough to cause Hitch concern.

"Please, you think me a fool? If I'm sitting here I'm quite aware of the special agreement that our governments made. You wouldn't want to have the Citadel Council turn the Drow Federation's short-lived and exceptionally swift withdrawal from your little political league into a public relations coup would you? You humans couldn't stomach that kind of loss of face…another of your oh so human failings…pride…" Vissara said with a sly smile.

"You would do well to remember that your own people are guilty of that same failing Director." Hitch replied evenly. The Human politician was still scowling, not liking the tenor of the conversation that had originally intended to show the Drow just who was in command. For Hitch, he had rarely made political missteps of any kind, but now, he was faced with the unfortunate prospect of entering into an engagement that might not have any open consequences…

But with Politics, the battles that aren't known to anyone but the participants tend to be the most decisive, and the most dangerous.

"Perhaps, but we didn't allow it to dominate galactic policy. You have, which is why you made what you thought was merely a minor concession by having a Drow placed as an appointee to head your Intelligence Services. You came here today to assert your position, that I was just a pretty face and a minor concession. I know that the Supreme Court ruling as a show trial, I know that the ironclad protection you gave the Federation to deal with the Gender issue was the biggest issue in your mind. Allowing a member domestic autonomy like that was your government's main concern." Vissara said, rising from her desk and walking over to the expansive windows that looked out on Lubyanka Square. Her violet eyes gazed out at the square, bustling with Muscovites going about their business.

The Female stood silent, waiting for Hitch to speak, but the human had tacitly avoided saying anything to the Drow, instead he sat silent, his eyes watching her and waiting, knowing that she had rather artfully maneuvered him into an intractable position.

"Representative, by your own government's organization, the Director of the Alliance Intelligence Service has the final authority over the Intelligence operations of the Systems Alliance. Excluding operations by Alpha Teams, and Omega Agents, I am the final arbiter and instigator of this Governments Intelligence services. I carry out the activities and policies that are put in place by the Parliament and the President. I intend to follow those guidelines completely, because that is the law." Vissara said and looked over her shoulder at Hitch.

"I am quite relieved to hear _that_." Hitch replied caustically.

"According to the law, the Parliament's Intelligence Oversight Committee does _not_ exist to give orders to the Intelligence Service, or to guide it's actions in any way. The Committee's responsibility exists entirely to judge the actions undertaken by the Intelligence Service, in accordance to the orders given it by the President and his legal representatives. You cannot tell me how to do my job, you cannot give me orders, you cannot demand that I take any action, that is what _your_ laws require of _my_ position. I know that the intentions of your little political ploy were to place my position into a status little removed from a puppet." Vissara said, slowly walking across the office, her fingers trailing across the birch desk-top as she circled it and looked down at Hitch. The representative scowled slightly.

"I am quite familiar with the law, Director." He said, his voice refusing to budge from the venomous tenor that it held.

"Good. Then there will not be any need to relay to the media information about the meddling and interference that my position has been experiencing from the Parliament in general, and the Oversight Committee in particular…" Vissara replied, letting the words sink in before finishing. "…do we understand each other?"

Hitch stared at her, actually going slightly pale when the word 'media' was uttered. The Free press of the Alliance couldn't be called 'impartial providers of the truth' as much as they could be called 'vicious predators seeking sustenance'. Unlike the human media of centuries past, the Alliance's news media was eager to get good stories and to turn a profit for the multi-billion dollar networks that they owned. Partisan politics didn't factor into it, hard questions weren't ignored out of sympathy or personal beliefs, too much money was on the line for a network to cater to a political demographic or to follow an agenda. No media source would ignore a government scandal, and Hitch knew that the days of politicians being able to simply cater to the ideologies and sympathies of the Press had died a century before during the North American unification wars when entire news networks had ignored economic, political, and military news to support the candidates they idolized.

_That _willful ignorance and prejudicehad led to a war that killed tens of millions of Mexicans, Canadians and Americans and shattered the three governments that shared North America…and devastated the credibility of the global news networks with it. Now days, the media knew that if it wanted relevance, _any_ news was worth reporting, and any story was valid. Hitch had learned that lesson early enough in his political career that he was not going to treat the threat of media exposure with any less caution than someone in the 15th century would view a witch hunter…something that would burn you alive if it had the barest hint of provocation.

"Alright Director, I can see that the Alliance Intelligence Service is in quite capable and skilled hands…" Hitch said begrudgingly, he knew that he had been defeated, and despite the anger, and humiliation of being so handily minimized, he couldn't help but give a small and begrudging nod of respect to the Drow. She'd played him, she'd baited him, and she'd threatened him, all without doing anything more that stating facts, and being willing to use a system that she was barely familiar with to her advantage. Hitch stood and smiled, the political mask on once again and allowing him to do the thing that all politicians could do as readily as breathing, smiling and treating a mortal enemy like a dear old friend. Vissara returned the nod and the smile.

"It's always a pleasure to see you here Representative Hitch. But your arrival does present me with another much more important opportunity…" Vissara said with a smile across her high cheek boned and disturbingly beautiful features. The cowed Representative smiled back, not willing to seem too beaten by the exchange.

"How can I help the Intelligence Service?" Hitch replied.

"I've received numerous reports from my agents that there's an upswing in intelligence gathering operations along civilian datalines that's been geared towards two things. Of course, all of this is veiled as legitimate research, and from what I can tell the Security Service hasn't located anything sinister in the investigations, but…I learned long ago that the most dangerous threats can be those that aren't sinister." Vissara said, running her fingers across the surface of her desk. Sensors tracked the subtle motions and the panoramic windows closed, tinting and going opaque to the eyes and to any electronic sensors that might be trying to peer in. The outer door sealed softly and to bring light into the sealed room, a holo display materialized against the far wall. Hitch turned his chair slowly and he looked at the readouts.

"And this would be?" He asked, glancing back to the Drow.

"Dark Energy. There's been a massive amount of interest in the topic from across Alliance space, or so the Security Service reports. The amount of activity and requests for access to Dark Energy is unusual. Our Batarian Allies are also showing an excessive amount of interest. Normally, scientists don't all get curious about the same things at the same time. And not usually something that we consider vital to our security. Which brings us to the second topic…what is Black Mercury?" Vissara said and here violet eyes watched Representative Hitch as he turned to face her…and she had more than a little respect for how impassive his features were.

"I do not have any knowledge about the material known as Black Mercury, or any research plan that applies to it." Hitch said in stalwart monotone that sounded more in keeping with a primitive vocal synthesizer than coming from the mouth of a living being. Vissara looked at him, eyes narrowed.

"You expect me to believe that?" She snapped.

"Yes, I do Director." Hitch replied, his voice calmer and much more alive than before.

"By your laws Representative…" Vissara began but Hitch held up a hand.

"I know full well what the Law says Representative, but the fact is that while I might have had a more intimate knowledge of Black Mercury at some point in the past, I do not anymore. Those memories have been erased from my memory. I can't tell you what it is, I can't tell you anything about it, but I can tell you that the information about Black Mercury is of such vital importance that a member of the Intelligence Oversight Committee had it erased from his memory. That alone should tell you how dangerous and important the knowledge is, and how vital it is that it be kept secret." Hitch said quietly and rose from his seat.

"I see…" Vissara said.

"Director, you know how to do your job, all I can say is that anyone who wants to know about Black Mercury, shouldn't."

* * *

><p><strong>The Citadel, September 2<strong>**nd**

"Your talent for understatement is incredible Councilor. You describe this as a…_matter of concern?_" Councilor Tevos said sharply, her eyes scanning the data scrolling before them with unfettered shock. There was little to be said at the notes being displayed in the margins of the documents. Tevos was a rapid reader, and comprehension of something so simple as 'Krogan breeding faster' was not hard to garner. She leaned back in her chair and tossed the reader onto the desk before her, glaring at the pair sitting there. Councilor Valern winced slightly at Tevos's sharp expression, but Councilor Hillardan simply watched her impassively. He'd already noted that the Asari had not offered either one of them a seat despite the importance that they had implied in their request for a meeting. Telling another member of the Council that they had to meet on an 'urgent' matter tended to mean a matter that could result in galactic war.

Usually that warrants a chair.

"I was unaware stating that there was a matter of the utmost importance was an understatement councilor. As you can see I have taken the liberty of dispatching a covert team to Tuchanka to investigate further. Their results-"

"Are inconsequential." Tevos finished with a wave of her hand to make the Salarian Councilor stop speaking in mid sentence.

"I beg your pardon Councilor?" Valern asked, shocked enough that the normally stoic expression he held shifted to one of mild surprise.

"The Krogan were one of the greatest threats to galactic stability since the Rachnni, any change in the Genophage's ability to retard Krogan birthrates _must_ be addressed. Not doing so borders on the criminal." Hillardan said firmly.

"I am well aware of that Councilor, and I remind you that the Systems Alliance has claimed sovereignty over Tuchanka with our peace accord. They wished to have dominion over the Krogan, and they have it. It is their issue to contend with, not ours." Tevos said, lifting another document reader and tapping commands into it.

"Councilor, I remind you that our agreement expressly states that there would be a continued presence in the Krogan DMZ by Council monitoring forces. We cannot ignore the Krogan issue." Valern said forcefully, but did not even manage to get Tevos to look up at him.

"It is an Alliance matter, and one that is of benefit to us. If the Alliance manages to unite the Krogan Clans against them, then we merely need to sit back and watch them wage a bloody and brutal war against one another. I remind you that the Krogan are a species with low tolerance for interference and the Alliance's high minded efforts to 'civilize' the beasts are merely serving to give the Clans a reason to ignore their petty troubles." Tevos said.

"And if the Krogan continue to breed without restraint?" Councilor Valern pressed, his expression venomous.

"Then what of it? The Alliance will decide to sterilize them in a far more permanent way. The STG has stated that the Alliance is more than capable of annihilating a planet. Doing so will rid us of the Krogan problem and give us a significant propaganda victory. We can demonstrate to the galaxy as a whole how bloodthirsty the Alliance truly is. Now, if you would excuse me." Tevos said, all of it without bothering to look up. Councilor Hillardan did not hesitate, he turned and left the office, Valern following behind him after a moment's hesitation. The Salarian was silent, but the Turian was anything but.

"How _dare_ she dismiss us like that! We're equal members of the Council and this issue is one which we cannot ignore. Asari arrogance." Valern snarled, his talons grasping at air silently. Hillardan looked to the Turian with a wary eye, the overt rage more than he'd expected to see from his colleague.

"She has her own concerns Councilor." Hillardan said diplomatically, not displaying any of the displeasure he felt himself.

"Her concerns should be more in keeping with the rest of Citadel space, not concern over how to make the galaxy a better place for Asari!" Valern practically shouted in the corridor. Hillardan winced and glanced to either side, ensuring that there were no hearing diaphragms that might catch a Councilor shouting, but only their bodyguards stood in the hall.

"Tevos has been very…insular. I cannot say that I have seen it personally, but the Salarian Union has noted a distinct…_trend_ in her actions." Hillardan said.

"I know that as well as you Hillardan, the Hierarchy has it's own memories of Asari actions, but Tevos in particular has been growing more and more recalcitrant when it comes to her duties. Most of all when she is forced to place the concerns of the whole beyond those of the Asari." Valern said with a sneer and reached into his robes to withdraw a small flask which he undid the top and sipped at. Hillardan noticed that small gesture with another level of shock layered on all the rest. Valern's drinking was an 'open secret' on the Council, his people's waning power after the Relay 314 Incident had relegated the Turian people's role in the Council to little more than a token gesture in Galactic affairs…and Tevos has led the effort to turn the Turians into little more than attack dogs for the Council when needed.

But Valern had never been so enraged or driven till now.

"My people fought the Krogan to a standstill, we held them back, paid in blood, _blood!_ While those damn beauty queens simply sat back and gave us orders. They used your people too in that war, a war they couldn't fight…" Valern snapped and took another swig from his flask before putting it away.

"It is history now Councilor…ancient history." Hillardan said delicately, his mind racing at the implications of what he was hearing, a Turian Councilor's words in private were one thing, but right now it felt less like complaining and more like conspiracy.

"Not for them. Matriarchs still live who started that war, they're still there, giving their orders and making their plans…planning on how to civilize us and turn us more into what they wish us to be…so that we can better serve their needs." Valern said darkly.

"You make it sound like we're puppets." Hillardan prompted.

"Yes, perhaps we are. That's all Turians are to them, isn't it? Soldiers. Loyal, reliable, disciplined soldiers. Whose fleets patrol the galaxy? Ours. Whose soldiers enforce their laws? Ours. Whose blood is shed when the call to war comes from their throats? Ours! And they know that we'll pay the price, they know that we will do what they wish, because we must, because we cannot contemplate anything but working for authority." Valern said and his voice was dark and vicious.

"Councilor, this is…"

"The truth." Valern said finally and walked off, leaving Hillardan standing in the passage and wondering what in the universe had just happened and just what the Turian Councilor was thinking deep down in his gizzard.

* * *

><p><strong>The Citadel, Tyaseri Ward, September <strong>**4th****, 2171**

"Never been here before…it's…nice…" Kezbana said quietly, looking out at the massive spiral arms of the Citadel high above him. He almost looked like a tourist, standing in the middle of the sidewalk and looking up at the Citadel above him.

"Come on tourist, we're here for a reason." Nihlus said, glancing at the Drow Assassin and rolling his eyes. Neither one was exactly subtle, Nihlus was wearing heavy armor and Kez was…well, even in casual clothing he had the unmistakable air of being someone who you should not trifle with. But the Drow's head nodded slightly and he followed along behind the Turian Spectre.

"So tell me, you live here?"

"No…well, yes…I suppose." Nihlus responded as they walked through the warren of buildings that clung to the face of the massive ward arms. It was hard to make sense of the fact that millions of beings lived on a structure that they really knew nothing about, going so far as to build massive sky scrapers and structures on it's surface. But the Turian had long since gotten used to the fact that it was a place that people called home, even if they didn't know just what the place was.

"So…maybe?" Kezbana asked with a chuckle, his eyes drifting back to the street and glancing around for a familiar species, but not finding any. For the Drow, it was a little odd to not see another Drow or Human out there…he had the unsettling realization that he was the alien here, not Nihlus. Oh, sure, it had been that way on Tuchanka, but really, that was a war zone and you couldn't help but find more important things to be concerned about. Here, on the Citadel itself…walking in crowds, you noticed the little things.

"I had an apartment, but my work is more important. I learned that from Saren. You can't let one place become to important, especially when you're needed everywhere by everyone to keep things secure and preserve the galaxy." Nihlus said.

"Yeah…I suppose…but when you fight for others, you tend to not care that you aren't fighting for yourself. Then you stop caring about the little things in life." Kez replied and got an annoyed glance from the Turian Spectre.

"Oh? You've never fought for anything other than yourself in this galaxy, have you?"

"Nope, can't say I have. Tends to keep your focus better that way." Kez said with a chuckle as the pair walked along, both of them beginning to notice the yellow armored forms of Eclipse troopers walking the streets, most of them just casually wlaking along, but others bearing the unmistakable demeanor of being on patrol.

"I guess I don't need to tell you to keep sharp then?" Nihlus said.

"No…I'm pretty sure looking out for myself is something that I can handle. Though I am curious about just why a major criminal leader would keep her office at the heart of the galactic government. All you lovely Spectre busybodies are here and could come in and arrest her, or that private army you call C-Sec could take her down…" Kez said as he walked along.

"The problem with 'taking her down' is the fact that Eclipse is one of the most dangerous Mercenary groups in the galaxy, and they have political ties beyond anything that you can imagine. They've got money, power, and protection. So taking Sederis down is something that even a Spectre would balk at." Nihlus said simply.

"So then why are you coming here my dear Turian?" Kezbana asked, leaning in close enough to Nihlus to make the Turian startle. His head snapped around and his mandibles flared slightly in annoyance.

"I don't know why I brought you along…" Nihlus snapped.

"Because I can beat the stuffing out of two Krogan with my bare hands, and my stunning wit. So just why can you do what we're planning on doing when every other Spectre out there isn't?" Kez asked again.

"Because it needs to be done…and because I don't listen to my superiors very well." Nihlus said, and flashed the Turian equivalent of a smile. Kez smirked back.

"I knew I liked you for a reason." Kez replied and they both turned to walk into the front of what looked like a completely average office building, distinguished from all the others by a pair of yellow armored guards out front and a large Eclipse emblem on the doors. Nihlus didn't hesitate, he simply strode in, Kezbana walking behind him, a smile plastered on the Drow's face. The lobby was the standard fare as well, fountains, plants, chairs set around tables with magazines a decade old. If you took out the stern faced guards who were armed with assault rifles and wearing heavy armor, it wouldn't be that unusual a place to walk into.

"So…shooting?" Kez muttered softly.

"No, I thought talking." Nihlus said and walked up to the Asari receptionist, nodding to her smile and completely cool demeanor.

"Welcome to Eclipse Private Contractor home office, how may I assist you Gentlemen?" She asked in her perfectly sweet and calm secretarial voice that probably wouldn't have broken if they'd walked in the door shooting and on fire.

"I'm here to see Jona Sederis. It's a matter of the utmost importance." Nihlus said simply.

"I'm sorry sir, but Ms. Sederis is currently…" The receptionist began her face completely locked in the expression of someone who was horribly mortified at having to provide anything other than assistance.

"It's of the utmost importance." Nihlus repeated evenly as he interrupted her..

"That may be sir, but Ms. Sederis is currently in a meeting and cannot take unscheduled visitors." The receptionist said and her face was just as sad as it had been moments before.

"Perhaps I should apologize for not introducing myself., I am Nihlus Kryik, Council Spectre." Nihlus siad and his face didn't shift an inch, but Kez did chuckle softly at the shift in the receptionist's expression which seemed to morph from regret, to surprise to fear and then to hopeful optimism that she could assist in under a second.

"I understand sir. Please, I will contact Ms. Sederis and have you taken to her office." The receptionist said and nodded not to one of the armored guards, but instead to another Asari to escort the pair.

"You've got to teach me that trick…" Kez said as the pair followed the Asari through the corridors.

"Sorry, need to be a Spectre for it to work." Nihlus replied.

"Damn, such strings attached…" Kez muttered as they stepped into a lift. The trip was short and the Asari smiled as the door opened into a large meeting room that gave a breathtaking view of Tyaseri Ward beyond.

"Ms. Sederis will be with you momentarily gentlemen, is there anything I can provide while you wait?" The Asari asked obligingly, but Nihlus merely shook his head and walked into the meeting room, taking a seat while Kez strode to the windows and looked out them at the beautiful view. It didn't take more than a minute for Sederis to join them…though her reception was much less obliging than her staff's had been.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here? By the Goddess do you know how insane it is for you to be coming in here out of the blue? Do you!" Sederis snarled as she stormed into the room, her eyes fixed on Nihlus as he sat at one of the chairs, looking up at the Asari Mercenary leader with thinly veiled confusion.

"Oh? And just how dangerous do you think it is to be screaming at a Spectre?" Nihlus asked cooly as he looked at the Asari. She snarled even more and sat down across from him, not even sparing a glance at Kez who was keeping track of the pair through the reflections in the view panel.

"I don't care, these are your damn precautions Spectre, all of your people were so terrified at people seeing you walking in here that your boss was adamant about keeping things quiet." Sederis snapped, glowering at Nihlus.

"You can watch your mouth, I'm here for answers and a Council Spectre has the right to go wherever they desire, in case you've forgotten." Nihlus said.

"Oh, big bad dangerous Spectre. You should know that you don't scare me and you certainly don't have my respect. I'm doing this for the money, so you're my client, not my superior. So you'd better divest yourself of that delusion fast." Sederis growled back, and Nihlus merely stared at her in silence, not even blinking, content to let the words hang there.

"I've come for information on Tuchanka and what's happening there." Nihlus said cooly.

"What do you want to know? We've made the shipments, we've got them the money you wanted, we've even got units fighting on Tuchanka, all of them Asari, no Salarians, of course. Not that the Krogan would like to see them fighting and dying for them…though they're useful in other ways. If you want to know about the cure we've been using…you'd have to check with whoever got the STG files to Binary Helix on the Genophage. The supply and support have been going as planned, no problems getting through the blockade or past the CEDM sensor nets. Is that what you want to know?" Sederis said with an annoyed sigh.

"That's part of it, thank you. How many Krogan Clans are working with you?"

"I don't have an exact number, but it's small…most of them just want to be left alone to their own squabbles, killing Alliance troopers is fun for them, but they just don't care. I'd worry about that one warlord Wrex, he's got some power and he's growing in strength. I think that one of our Units is supposed to eliminate him and make it look like Alliance Marines did it, something to stir up the locals even more, assassination instead of the way their Marines challenge clan warriors to one on one battles. Nice to take those little Marines down a notch in the eyes of the Krogan." Sederis said with a sinister chuckle.

"And the cure? To the Genophage?" Nihlus said in a completely calm voice.

"Not as viable as a one hundred percent cure. Nothing's gonna be that good unless you get an STG genetics genius to work on it, or you crack open some Alliance genetic engineering information. But that's not my job. Somebody else was supposed to work on that one." Sederis said with a yawn.

"What's the effective rate now?" Nihlus asked.

"How the fuck should I know? They're breeding more, that's all I can say." Sederis responded.

"I see."

"So just what brings you here Spectre? Normally is one of the Asari that gets sent to slum it here and check up on our work for you. Why'd they send you here to annoy me?" Sederis asked.

"Because I'm one of the best of course."

"Oh, you think you're as good as that holier than thou bastard Saren? Fucking nutcase he is…" Sderis said, and Nihlus flinched slightly at the casual sarcasm.

"He's a competent Spectre."

"Yeah, well, just remember who you can talk to. No buddy-buddy pillow talk with your friend Saren, this is Tevos's show. If she's willing to let you in on it, you'd better keep your fucking mouth shut, or the goddess will be seeing you in thinly sliced strips when the Councilor is done with you." Sederis said and stood up, not even bothering to say the meeting was over. Nihlus rose and Kez looked to the Turian Spectre as he stood in place for a moment. The Drow was about to ask just what the hell had gone on just then, but Nihlus's expression didn't allow for any kind of idle curiosity. Instead, the pair walked out of the office and through the building, marching out on the street and away from the Eclipse offices as fast as possible.

"Okay, you know what the hell all that meant, right?" Kez asked quietly.

"Yes." Nihlus replied bluntly.

"So?" Kez asked again.

"It's bad."

"How bad is bad?"

"Very."

"That's descriptive." Kez said with a sigh.

"She just named a Councilor as being part of an operation to run weapons, money and support to the Krogan on Tuchanka." Nihlus said simply.

"Isn't that what governments do? Proxy wars and that kind of thing? Especially since your government and mine aren't exactly on glowing terms." Kez replied.

"No…that's normal…the bad part…the Genophage.

"So, there's a semi-cure. The Krogan can breed, is that bad?" "Yes, it's _very_ bad Kez, very bad." Nihlus said simply.

"Why?" "Because it's Treason. A Citadel Councilor is willingly undertaking an act of Treason. The Krogan Genophage was put in place to halt a galactic war, to stop them from having to be exterminated and to end a horrific conflict. To do anything to reverse that, is simply…a crime of the highest level."

"So…politicians break the law in pursuit of 'higher ideals' all the time…it's what they do." Kez replied.

"No…this…this is something that's worse. Much, much worse…and I've got no idea who is authorizing this…I was sent to investigate this by Councilor Hillardan, and why would he have sent me to investigate it if he knew about it?" Nihlus said.

"Because he didn't." Kezbana replied.

"Exactly, and if a Councilor doesn't know about that, then what else is Councilor Tevos doing that we don't know about? Just how many Spectres are in on this? Just what in the name of the Spirits is going on here?"

* * *

><p><strong>SSV <strong>_**Boudicca,**_** Harsa System, September 5****th****, 2171**

"Admiral, we are one minute out from fleet reversion to Realspace." The main Astronavigation officer said from her station in the amphitheater like Flag bridge of the SSV _Boudicca. _The Alliance Conqueror Class SuperCarrier was one of the first in the Alliance Navy's 'New Fleet' Program. So new that the ship still smelled of solvents and adhesion compounds from the New Rannoch Shipyards. Even the Air recyclers and engines held the sounds of a ship so new that it had barely settled into it's regular settings. Filled with over three thousand crew, settling in at a mass of over one million dtons and four kilometers long, the _Boudicca_ was an impressive display of the might that the Alliance Navy felt it possessed.

"Excellent, stations ready?" Commodore Martinez said from his place at the command hologram situated at the base of the Flag Bridge. He smiled with pride as his hands touched the unmarked surfaces of the hologram projector, the ship still felt so new that there weren't even stains from coffee cups or rings on the edges of the console. He couldn't restrain the feeling of honor and joy at being given command of one of the System Alliance's newest combat starships, and being in command of an entire taskforce. Even if his mission wasn't one of combat.

"All Stations are ready for Arrival in the Harsa System Commodore." The Aslan Ops officer supplied from her seat along the second level of consoles.

"We are on time I trust? Our hosts would not enjoy us missing the mark for our arrival." Martinez said with a brilliant smile.

"No sir, we'll be arriving exactly on time and exactly where they want us to." The Nav officer answered professionally. Martinez nodded and sighed softly, the bridge crew was still new, still 'green', and they still didn't have the comfortable familiarity of a unit that had worked together for a long time. It as a subtle thing, but building the bonds of teamwork took more than just training. But for a shakedown cruse, they were professionals, and they were talented…that was usually good enough.

"Ten seconds Commodore." The Nav officer supplied, and Martinez nodded once more, taking a step to his command station and standing with his arms clasped behind his back, fitting the recruiting vid perfect image of an Alliance Navy officer as he waited for the arrival of his task force at Khar'shan.

As the chrono ticked off to zero the unearthly light display of hyperspace dissolved into real space, and the sensor panels displayed the star system surrounding the task force. With a few quick glances Commodore Martinez saw that his force was all intact from the hyperspace jump and none had been lost in their trip through the other-dimensional maelstrom. As he finished checking, the Tactical officer began calling out his own string of information that Martinez drank in professionally.

"All vessels report clear, local space has no hostile forces, current location of our welcoming committee is 300 kilometers off our prow, distance to Khar'Shan is five thousand kilometers. Batarian fleet is made up of old class vessels. I read three Batarian style Dreadnoughts, ten old model Alliance Battleships, fifteen old model Alliance Battle Cruisers and over forty old model Alliance Cruisers. Numbers of old model Frigates and Corvettes are available…" The Tactical officer relayed but Martinez raised his hand to stop the younger officer.

"No need for that, I'm sure our Batarian friends enjoy our contribution to their national defense, and we're all familiar with the old class of starships." Martinez said, examining one of the small tactical holos that displayed the Batarian fleet strength. When the Alliance introduced it's 'New Fleet' Program to address the serious tactical flaws that had caused thousands of deaths during the short and brutal war with the Turians, the Batarians had been foremost on the list of buyers to acquire the 'obsolete' Alliance warships. Bolstering the 'vital' ally state had been considered politically sound, and even at the reduced prices, the Batarians had been willing to invest millions of credits in the high tech alliance starships, increasing their own combat power immensely, and willing to overlook the fact that their patrons were getting rid of hundreds of warships to replace them.

After the War over Shanxi, the Alliance navy had found it's original design philosophy for warships was woefully ill equipped to deal with the dominant design trends in the galaxy at large. Turian Mass Accelerators on Cruisers and Dreadnoughts had torn through relatively lightly armored Alliance warships and blasted through energy shielding that was quickly overwhelmed by thousands of projectiles being hurled at hypervelocity. In response, the Navy had screamed long and loud and the Parliament had financed a complete new navy development program, much the way wooden hulled man o' wars had been made obsolete by ironclad warships, so to had the Alliance Navy found itself in a similar situation. Technological advantages and high tech energy weapons hadn't been nearly good enough to deal with the relatively unsophisticated and brute force approach that galactic weapons had utilized.

In response, the Alliance rebuilt the entire fleet from the keel up, redesigning and re-sizing entire ship classes, completely tossing out the design philosophies of the previous century and in response coming up with the 'New Fleet', of which the _SSV Boudicca _was the flagship. A 2,000 meter long Conqueror class Super Carrier, carrying 18 squadrons of fighters, interceptors and bombers, she was the first of the new Super Carriers. _Boudicca_ was a long arrowhead design for her main hull with a large pair of hangers slung beneath it like immense flat rectangles. Eight main engines forced her through the void and her massive dark matter and fusion power plants provided enough energy to power some colony worlds. She was beautiful in her way, but less so than her escorts.

Providing protection for her was a pair of the new Victory Class Battleships, _SSV China_ and _SSV South Africa_. The new Battleships were larger then their predecessors at two kilometers long and four times the displacement. The previous Alliance designs had been lacking in armor, and had been armed with Meson weapons, which were fantastically dangerous, but of limited range. The Victory Class was armored in multiple layers of nano forged armor plate with industrial diamond sheeting over thick layers of bi-phase carbide, a multi layered sandwich of armors that was designed to absorb and dissipate the impact of Dreadnought and Cruiser fire. In addition to that upgrading of armor, the Battleships also boasted Mass Effect barriers, multiple energy shielding layers, and polarized hull plating. All of the design layers intended to provide the shield for the Battleship's main armament. Instead of a Meson cannon, the Victory Class was equipped with three triple turrets of 508mm coil rail cannons and twelve dual turrets with 250mm coil rail cannons, each of these firing multiple types of projectile rather than the Citadel Dreadnought's solid slug ammunition. All of this firepower and armor was set on a hull that felt like a massive arrowhead that was covered in angular lines designed to deflect projectiles and to give the dorsal, ventral and prow 508mm guns unobstructed fire forward, and to provide the 250mm turrets along the dorsal spine and ventral keel perfect broadside lines of fire.

Surrounding _Boudicca, China _and _South Africa _were the Cruisers and Battle Cruisers of the escort force. Both classes had been redesigned as their predecessors had, and the Yamamoto class Battle Cruisers boasted dual spinal Meson Cannons along their 1,250 meter length, and their arrowhead styled hulls were much more heavily armored, just as the Battleship class had been expanded. More armor layers, more shielding, more reactors, all of it crammed into the fighting starships making them larger than their predecessors. Complimenting the Yamamoto class Battle Cruisers in the line were the Warrior class Cruisers, these ships armed with dual fusion cannons running down their spines, they were intended for speed and maneuverability to close and engage enemy fleets in tight quarters with the Yamamoto class Battle Cruisers to take the brunt of the heavier fire and to give back some damage of their own.

Surrounding this hard core of combat starships was an exterior screen of Minuteman class Frigates and Guardian class Corvettes, neither class had gone through much redesign into the New Fleet program, since armoring either one to be able to take a hit from a major ship of the line would be a fools errand and make them useless, since armoring and shielding them enough to take the hit would make them so slow as to be pointless.

All in all, the taskforce was designed well and the mixture of vessels were theorized to be enough to take on anything that the Citadel races might throw at it. A Carrier to have fighters and bombers attack the enemy fleet at range, Battleships capable of taking heavy fire and returning it over a long period of time at a long distance, Battle Cruisers and Cruisers capable of closing the distance between the fleets rapidly under fire and utilizing the immense destructive potential of the Alliance's directed energy weapons, while the Frigates and Corvettes provided a screen against enemy frigates and light craft attacking the larger ships.

It all looked incredibly good in the simulations, and according to all the numbers, the fleet was going to be diverse enough to deal with any threats that the Citadel could bring to bear against it…but in the back of their minds, the designers and Admirals in charge of creating the 'New Fleet' knew that for every Battleship and SuperCarrier that the Alliance could build, the Turians alone outnumbered them drastically. Most of the Admirals in High Command firmly believed that any Alliance Taskforce or Fleet could go toe to toe against any Citadel fleet and win, but they all knew that the Alliance fleets were gravely outnumbered by those foes who they'd be fighting, and that disparity in numbers was enough to give any commander pause to be concerned. Sometimes wars weren't won by the side with the best training and best technology, sometimes they were won by the side who simply had more, and no matter how well you fought you couldn't make up for that kind of imbalance.

Not a happy thought.

"Commodore, I'm Receiving a hail from the Batarian fleet." The Comms officer reported flatly, and Commodore Martinez nodded to him and the main holo flickered into the air before him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the indicators on the holo showing that it was being broadcast in the open on civilian bandwidth. Martinez had known about this going in, but the prospect of being broadcast live to billions of sentients in Batarian, Alliance, Terminus and even Citadel Space made him hesitate slightly. It was all propaganda, showmanship and simple spectacle that this shakedown cruise had come to Khar'Shan rather than to an Alliance World. This had been done to demonstrate to the galaxy the new forces in the Alliance Navy and to give the unspoken word of warning to the Citadel that the Alliance wasn't a small time player…

…and since Khar'Shan was technically Citadel Space, it made it all the more flippant an action.

"Greetings Commodore Martinez! I'm High Admiral Elaum Chankt of the Hegemony Home fleet and I welcome you to Khar'Shan. It is an honor to host your newest Task Force on it's maiden cruise." The Batarian Admiral said from the holo, his own fleet uniform looking especially elaborate with gold braid, medals from what might have been countless conflicts won (or countless errands run), combining with grim fabrics and a sever cut to make him look like he might belong as a doorman at a high-class hotel rather than in a Naval Command. But Martinez bit back a smile and merely nodded in grave appreciation, well aware of the audience watching him across the galaxy, and slightly conscious of his own simpler uniform. Even the bridge crew was attired in semi-dress uniforms rather than the standard on duty pressure suits or combat vacuum suits worn while on duty. It had all been decided long before…but it was still a little ridiculous when anyone who had a passing knowledge of naval procedures thought about it.

"Thank you for having us High Admiral, The Systems Alliance Navy was honored by your invitation to have a taskforce pay a courtesy call to Khar'Shan and we were happy to stop by." Martinez said and broke with military procedure to salute the Batarian officer over the holo, even though such formality did not usually extend over comms or to officers who weren't a part of the Alliance military.

"I'm glad you came Commodore, as you can see, our Fleet has been training and our crews were hoping to show off to our Alliance Friends." The High Admiral said with that perfect smile for the holo cams and the watching audience.

"By all means Admiral, we'd love to see how our Allies operate." Martinez said and received a nod from High Admiral Chankt. As he nodded, the comm frequency shifted out of the 'public band' and was encrypted so the conversation had less than several billion ears listening in.

"So, I guess you're as annoyed at this little…how do you Humans put it? 'Dog and Pony Show'?" High Admiral Chankt asked, sighing in relief and letting his own 'recruiting poster perfect pose and façade sag slightly.

"Just a bit Admiral, just a bit." Martinez replied, his eyes glancing over to the tactical holo as the Batarian fleet began maneuvering in space.

"Politics, such a lovely thing. But to be frank, we are glad to see you here at Khar'Shan Commodore. The Hegemony has precious few friends in the galaxy…and we're glad to count you among them." High Admiral Chankt said.

"I think it's safe to say we feel the same way in the Alliance, Admiral." Martinez said with only a slight lie to his words. Most Alliance military personnel were ambivalent about the Batarians in military matters. They were regarded as amateurs when placed against hardened combat forces and experienced Alliance Units, but most Alliance units had some degree of Combat experience and were trained to an outrageously hard degree and incredibly well equipped…so regarding the Batarians as less capable wasn't entirely fair. But there was a strong undercurrent of sentiment that the Batarians were merely an opportunity and giving them equipment, technology, loans, economic support and training to bulk up their military capacity was merely being done to give the Citadel something else to worry about.

"We're glad to have you. And I've been instructed to ask if your…package is here?" High Admiral Chankt asked. Martinez looked around and nodded slightly.

"Yes Admiral, they're boarding a transport for the destination your High Command has indicated."

"The Research base on Spekilas. You have the coordinates and your team will be met there by the facilities' staff."

"Good…Admiral, if I could ask, just what is so important that you need Alliance help with the research?" Martinez said asked and Chankt chuckled lightly.

"If you can find that one out Commodore, I would love to hear it. All I know is that our scientists have been looking at this thing since 2163...and we got ten free battleships out of your Parliament for agreeing to let you look at it. So I guess we think it's a win-win." Chankt said with a shrug over the holo com. The Batarian glanced off the holo and then back to Commodore Martinez.

"Time to get back to our little show Commodore." Chankt said and smiled with a nod to his left.

"Of course Admiral." Martinez said and nodded in the same manner before the comm switched back into the open band.

"Most impressive High Admiral, your fleet has been training well." Martinez said in honest appreciation, he'd been keeping track of the tactical holo and added a leftward inclination of his head in the Batarian expression of respect.

"Your praise means a lot to them Commodore. But as much as our Navy would enjoy impressing you, the leaders of the Hegemony wish to meet you and convey their greetings to you and the sailors of the Alliance Navy." High Admiral Chankt said and Commodore Martinez noted the small gesture from the ships operations officer indicating the shuttle with the researchers was away. Another day, another convoluted series of objectives to follow.


End file.
